


The Logogriph Letters

by Turdle



Series: The Soldier's Element [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon - Manga, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Military, Puzzles, Slice of Life, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turdle/pseuds/Turdle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the end of his apprenticeship, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye keep in touch with each other as they navigate their increasingly complicated choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roy's First Letter - October

**Author's Note:**

> **Logogriph -**   
>  _N. A word puzzle cryptic, usually an anagram._

Being a bartender of a particular calibre, Roy’s foster mother, the Madame Christmas, had always been fond of idiomatic sayings and cynical life advice doled out in between long drags of her cigarette. And being a masterful informant, Chris Mustang was also partial to advising her foster son on the right sorts of choices to make. As she was often fond of reminding her dear Roy boy, contacts were assets, rivals were risks, but _friends_ were liabilities. 

So naturally, upon enrolling officially in the Amestrian Military Academy in Central City, Roy had gone about finding all three kinds of people. And in the case of Maes Hughes, all three types in one person. 

It just stood to reason that that was Roy Mustang’s bad luck.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this is my fault somehow,” came a harsh whisper from over Roy’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered closed in annoyance, and Roy sucked in a breath, counting from ten before he turned to glare at the other cadet sitting behind him. Maes Hughes simply continued, as if he hadn’t noticed the annoyance he was causing. “-if I hadn’t have shown up and saved your cocky ass, you’d probably be in a lot worse trouble than our digging duties.” 

Roy snorted, and turned back to his desk, leaning back over the readings they were reviewing before class formally started back up again. “I wouldn’t say I was being cocky. That would imply an overestimation of my abilities.”

A low whistle struck up a note from behind him, and Roy felt the weight of Maes’ feet push off on the back of his chair, as he titled back. “Two against one? They had you by the collar—“

“-And yet you were the one who drew a weapon. I’ve fought worse fights. But getting that much punishment this early into my military career wasn’t what I was looking for.” Roy said, tapping his open notebook with his pen. He looked out of the corner of his eyes back at Maes and then uncapped his pen. “- _regardless_.”

“Regardless, if you’re worried about me unseating your attempts at a pristine reputation for the Commanders here, don’t worry. I’m not going to do it by getting you into trouble.”

“That remains to be proven, seeing as how your unholstering a loaded weapon extended our punishment.” Roy shot back, writing the date in the top corner of the left side of his notebook. 

“We both went down for that one, didn’t we?” Maes asked lightly, setting his chair back down on all fours as he leaned forwards again. “No, that’s too easy. I’m just going to outscore Mister Top-of-the-Class. Beat you at your own game, like I’ve been doing.” 

That particular comment had Roy chuckling at the insistence of the Cadet behind him. True, Maes Hughes was good. Maybe he _was_ the best damn cadet in their unit besides himself, but Hughes was not _him_. And while competition brought out the best in Roy’s work, it was fairly clear in his eyes this was a place he couldn’t be beat. 

“By all means, if you weren’t even trying before when you missed the perfect score on our last rifles session…”

“Hey,” Hughes said sharply. “This is our intelligence class. My chosen speciality. Your ass is going to be soundly kicked.”

Pen dancing across his page, Roy fought to keep amusement from his expression. Cadets weren’t technically prepared to choose specialties, or even allowed, but Maes Hughes had made it clear he had a place he expected to be. A place that just happened to be in one of the most difficult sub-specialties to get into. Of course, his family before him had built up quite the rapport with their own military service. Hughes was as blue blooded Amestrian as a young man could get without coming with a blinding natural sheen and blond hair. 

“I didn’t know you _had_ any intellect.” Roy said calmly, wincing as Hughes kicked the back of his chair soundly in response. “At any rate, you think you can go toe to toe with me?” He ripped the page from his book, and passed it back.

 

It read: _‘Arrive clutching darling, and enter the game. (7)’_

 

It took the other man a moment to glance over the thing, before he looked up skeptically. “Pardon my Cretan, but what the fuck?” he said, tapping the edge of his desk in a show of the boundless energy Roy was beginning to notice he had. 

“It’s a word puzzle cryptic.” Roy explained. The concept was easy enough, and if Hughes was all that interested in intel, the more codes he worked on, the better he would be at it. “Surely you can figure that out before the end of class. Seven’s how to check the answer.” 

A huff of exasperation echoed back in response, and Roy smiled to himself as he leaned back over his paper. 

“This is ridiculous. You’re like my Nan and her crossword puzzles.” Hughes complained.

“Well if you can’t do it, don’t bother. In the mean time, some of us are used to working on complex logical puzzles,” Roy said, ducking his head down. 

“I’ll do it, if only so you’ll stop being a prick. I’m amazed more people haven’t tried to kick your head in.” Hughes retorted, picking up a pencil.

“I could say the same for you.” He said simply, before falling into silence for the remainder of the class break.

Returning to his own train of thought, he began to scrawl out a brief letter he’d been meaning to send for nearly two months now.

  _Miss Hawkeye,_ it began, under the date of ‘ _1903 Oct. 28_ _th_ ’. Roy bit his lip in thought, and began to write as much as he could manage in the small amount of time he had left before their commanders and instructors walked back into the room. _You can’t say I have been slacking on my studies, given that this has been the first moment of free time I’ve had to write a single letter. So don’t worry about that._ The pen hesitated, dripping ink onto the page as Roy wondered about the truthfulness of his statement. Technically, after the beginning hell week had been over, he did have free time, but that had been largely superseded by his punishment for having gotten into a fight with upperclassmen cadets. 

He continued on, elaborating as best he could in a way that he knew would probably invoke Riza’s normal look of exasperation as she read the letter. While Roy couldn’t explain exactly what it was about that expression that got to him, it gave him the distinct feeling that she was _putting up_ with him for some reason. And yet…she seemed to enjoy that part too. 

_Thanks to the help of a Cadet by the name of Hughes, I’ve been pulling double duty on latrines and digging, as well as the mess. I won’t bore you with the details, but the trouble we got into was to protect someone. Commander Oswin wasn’t happy in the slightest, but he consulted with Srgt. Wells and we were let off with just punishment and a warning. Bad enough, in my book._

There was time, Roy was sure, to mention Heathcliff, the young Ishvalan cadet who seemed to be faring well now that his biggest bullies were nursing black eyes. But dwelling on the more gory details of the moment seemed like the wrong thing to say in his first letter back, so he picked up his pen, and moved on. 

_The other Cadet we were helping, Arbor, is a nice enough person. He’s being punished too, unfortunately, but there was no getting around it. We all were, including upperclassmen Cadets Roswell and Eames. Aside from that mishap though, things here aren’t too unusual. We don’t earn leave until our second month is over, and even considering that, I don’t think plans to go out are necessarily in my best interests yet._

Given that the only ‘friends’ of any sort he’d made so far happened to be Hughes and Heathcliff, he could only imagine the enormous amount of trouble he’d be dragged into given half the chance. It wasn’t something he was wholly looking forwards to.

_I’m sure you’re having much more fun than I am. Not because I necessarily think Yvette and Octavia are more pleasurable company than I am, but because being miserable is, apparently, the character building portion of your military experience. I wouldn’t say I’m miserable, but—_

But he did feel a sense of nagging that hadn’t quite left since he had departed the Hawkeye household. 

— _The food could be more pleasant. Don’t you think Ursula is a sinister name for the head of a messhall?_

_The lack of excellent meals aside, I thought I would send you a little something. I know you’re quite good at Xerxian translations, and I thought you’d enjoy other sorts of word puzzles. This one should be easy:_

_Del. (9, 8)_

_Though I knew they SAID I did it_

_It’s a shame I wasn’t ACQUITTED_

 

_Good luck._

 

_— R. Mustang._

 

From behind him, a voice piped up. “I got it. You’re _on_.”


	2. Riza's first letter - November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solution's to last week's puzzles: 
> 
> Maes' Puzzle: COM(PET)E [Come = arrive, clutching darling = pet, total: Compete]  
> Roy's anecdote in his letter: How are you? (Hughes, Oswin, Wells, Arbor, Roswell, Eames, Yvette, Octavia, Ursula?)  
> The letter's cryptogram: Indicated, Indicted [Though I knew they indicated I did it, It’s a shame I was indicted. Deletion.]

No more than a short train ride away from Ashford, Riza was fairly certain that she and her father didn’t live in the small city of Flamel was because there were too many _other_ alchemists in town. That didn’t stop her, however, from attending school there, spending her weekdays at Flamel’s Boarding Academy for Girls. It was one thing in Berthold Hawkeye’s mind to stay away from the veritable town of ivory towers and alchemy, it was another entirely for his daughter to miss out on some of the best education Eastern had to offer.

Which meant she didn’t miss out on the sweeping lives of the girls that attended Flamel Academy either. 

“ _Rizaaaa_ ,” a bright voice whined from across the room. Riza turned to look up from her desk, watching her taller, olive-skinned and brown-haired roommate glide towards her, tray of snacks in hand. “—I still can’t believe you got a letter from someone sending it through the care of the military. I was waiting for a letter from Christopher.” 

Shaking her head, Riza returned her attention to the letter before her. _What an idiot he had been_. “It’s nothing special, Yvette. Didn’t Christopher just leave yesterday? How would he have had time to send a letter already?” She said, trying to ease her roommate’s complaints. Upon a second thought, Riza pushed her chair back and smiled back at the other girl. “Welcome back, by the way. I hope your send off went well.”

Yvette grinned widely, white teeth gleaming as she nodded. “More than _well_ ,” she said with a sly look shot Riza’s way. Riza’s brows raised lightly, uninterested in the private details, but quite sure that Yvette would want some reaction of some sort that was encouraging. Christopher was a nice enough young man, based off of the one or two occasions Riza had met him. Barely twenty and a dark auburn ginger with rich blue eyes, it wasn’t hard to see why Yvette had been so deeply attracted to him. He was amiable and had a deep voice several timbres lower than one might expect, with a southern accent and city-boy charm. He’d also enlisted in the Eastern military after finishing up his job in Flamel, and Yvette had ‘seen him off’ the night before, not even bothering to make her curfew. Riza had covered for her, but only after much coercion and the admittance that this was indeed a one-time occasion. 

It took Riza a moment to realize Yvette had continued talking as she let her mind wander back to the rebellions further east, snapping back only as Yvette’s voice reached a nearly ear piercingly excited pitch. “—And then he _proposed!”_

The gasp coming from Riza was at the very least an honest response. “He _what?_ Yvette, he proposed to you?” Her chair clattered against the desk as she pushed back completely, and rose to her feet, watching for the other girl’s expression. At seventeen, she was a little young to be getting married, but it wasn’t unheard of for an eighteen year old to do so. Although, Christopher _was_ leaving…

“He did!” she squealed, thrusting her left hand out for Riza to examine. Her hands flew to her roommate’s palm, taking it into her own grasp as she inspected the ring that now adorned Yvette’s finger. It was simple, but elegant. It was a solitary diamond setting, a warm gold band with a modestly beautiful gem in the center. 

“I…” Riza managed, dubiously smiling for the benefit of her roommate. “I’m happy for you. But doesn’t this make it harder that he’s going to be gone?” she asked cautiously, releasing Yvette’s left hand. 

“Oh Riza, don’t be so pessimistic.” Yvette laughed, waving her hand lightly. “He has a brief tour of the area bordering Ishval, and then he’s coming back. You don’t honestly think the Ishvalans stand a chance against us in continuing their riots, do you? They don’t even have a standing military, they still use _swords_ and _monks_.” Smiling sweetly, Yvette sat prettily on her pink bed sheets once more while admiring her ring. Riza blinked, unsure of what to say. They hadn’t studied Ishval too closely in class, but she’d done her own readings once it became clear that the civil unrest was rocketing, and threatening to become serious. 

True, the Ishvalans had monks. But Riza thought it best not to correct her friend that those monks were considered to be holy warriors, and that as far as she knew, the swords were just as ceremonial as the Amestrian ones. They had guns too, and more importantly, they had a cause to rally behind. Several Amestrian towns had already been burned down in the midst of rioting. To underestimate the Ishvalans would be to sit on a powder keg with matches in hand. Which was exactly what the additional presence of the military men in the eastern borders seemed to be doing. 

Shaking her head, Riza looked away before gathering her thoughts. “I suppose you’re right.” She said politely. “I hope I’ll be invited to this wedding?”

Yvette’s eyes lit up. “Oh Riza, of course you will be! My sister will be my maid of honor of course, but I want you there at my side. You and a plus one, _hmm?”_ she purred, nudging Riza with a teasing elbow. 

“You want me to take my father?” Riza asked, taken aback.

“No silly! Whoever your mystery letter writer is…you still haven’t told me what you did _all summer_ , and I’m just dying to know!” 

Smirking Riza stepped back to her desk. “Did you ever consider I haven’t told you because I’m trying to break you of a few bad habits, like your nosiness?” 

At this, Yvette pouted. “Aw, Riz, you’re no fun.” 

“And you,” Riza remarked pointedly, “-are a terrible gossip.” She said with a laugh. “I caught up on some studies, and that was about it.” Pulling her chair back out, she sat down again, opening her desk drawer to pull out a fresh sheaf of paper to write on. 

“I wish you kept a diary. Then I might actually know what you’re up to…” 

“Did you ever think that’s maybe why I _don’t_ keep a diary, Yvette?” Riza said, uncapping her pen, writing in the high left corner - _5, November 1903._

“Spoilsport.” Her roommate called back. 

“Mmm.” Riza hummed, pen dancing easily across the page as she continued the letter. 

 _Mister Mustang,_ she wrote, frown already crossing her features. _Whatever it is you did, my only response is that I hope you: Feel bad about red wading bird (6) it._

Two could play at his puzzles game. It had taken her a little while to work out his small puzzle, but Roy had been right about her penchant for words and wordplay. Secondary to her history studies, Riza had quite the command of the logical breakdowns in letters. She just had never had the head for numbers and elements, nor the desire to practice alchemy that her father had been looking for. 

_I apologize if this letter is short. Yvette came into the room in a tizzy. She’s just announced to me she’s planning to get ‘In hurt, I hitched (7).’ I don’t think it’s a terribly wise idea right now, but I don’t want to be the one to rain on her parade. Still, it won’t happen for some time yet, as Christopher is enlisted to serve on his first tour of the Eastern borders. I just don’t want her rushing her plans the moment he gets home._

Glancing over her shoulder, Riza looked back to Yvette, who had cracked open one of her Xerxian translations books. The compositions of which Riza knew was due the next day - she was, after all, going to be the teacher’s assistant who collected them. Riza had already completed her own composition, and she was fairly certain that between Yvette’s excitement over her new ring, and usual impatience, that she would be called over to help sooner rather than later.

A muttered, “I don’t see the point in studying _dead_ _languages_.” From her direction proved Riza’s hunches right. Fighting from snorting, Riza continued. 

_As for myself, I am fine. Some of my classes could be better, but we all ‘not assuming manners, and that’s final (6)’. You do it a little more than you should have to. Perhaps_ **_both_ ** _of us should be studying more._

_— R. Hawkeye_

 

“Oh come on, Riza. Stop acting like you’re writing a letter and not going to help me with this.” Yvette called over, lying back on her bed. Riza stood up, and folded her letter, placing it within an envelope before she placed it between the pages of one of her books. 

“Aeul Xerpaeum.” Riza replied, with a laugh as she sat down on the bed beside her roommate, folding her legs up underneath her as she leaned to examine her Xerxian composition 1 book. 

“What?”

“Well in this case, it means ‘All victories’. You’ll get to the text it’s from in Advanced Level three.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she adjusted her uniform back over her knees. “Like saying good luck.”

Yvette laughed. “I’m amused you have faith that I’m going to go on to advanced III with Xerxian.” 

Gently nudging Yvette, Riza smiled. “You will if I help you. Come on, let’s take a look at the phrases…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I thought Riza needed a good lady friend. :)


	3. Roy Mustang's 2nd Letter - December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week's solutions: 
> 
> red wading bird (6)  
> Sol: r (from red)+egret a wading bird [Regret]
> 
> In hurt, I hitched (7)  
> Marr+i+ed, in hurt = marr, I, “ed” hitched. [Married] 
> 
> not assuming manners, and that’s final (6)  
> MAKE DO

“You should have seen her,” Maes Hughes slurred leaning heavily on an irritated Roy. “-She was the most be-au-ti- _fulll_ girl in the world!”

Roy bit his lip, fighting to hold back a variety of pointed responses; among them that he’d met a variety of beautiful women and thought it was best not to try and push one’s luck on a drunken flirtation during a leave night. Sure, the young lady in question seemed _more_ than interested in Hughes, but that had been precisely the problem. Maes was inclined to throw himself at the feet of any woman he thought would be the one, and she had seemed more than happy to attract a young cadet.

It had been Roy’s duty to intervene before Maes’ predilection for finding true love everywhere and the girl’s attempt to pointedly occupy a popular military bar collided into a wife and two kids before Maes even graduated. Like stopping a runaway train in its tracks.

“Uh huh.” Roy replied calmly, draping Maes’ arm over his shoulder in order to balance his assigned battle buddy out. 

Maes grinned squeezing Roy closer into something that felt more like a choke hold than a hug. “I’m in love, Roy-boy!” He crowed, voice bouncing off the empty alley brick walls. 

At this, Roy sighed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t call me Roy-boy.” He said, peeling Hughes’ fingers from their tight grip on his collar, frown deepening. “Did you even get her name?”

This seemed to evoke a chuckle from the other cadet, as if Roy had said something completely absurd. And perhaps in the world of Maes Hughes, he had. This particular response seemed to happen rather often, and Roy had yet to understand the code of the Maes method. He had a feeling no matter how much he tried, part of it would be beyond him - with good reason.

“No, but I bet she has a lovely name, like _Cassandra_. Or _Prudence_.” 

This had Roy raising a black brow. If he laughed, Maes would certain take it as encouragement of this absurd behavior, and Roy couldn’t allow that. Instead, he shook his head. Hughes absolutely would marry a woman named Prudence or Temperance or something equally ridiculous and meant to be an adjective rather than a real name. 

“I think you’re drunk.” Roy said, wrinkling his nose at the heavy liqour smell that had been blowing over his cheek. Between the two of them, Roy had learned pretty quickly that Hughes was just as competitive about drinking as he was everything else - and that once he became drunk, he was even more loud, affectionate, and enthusiastically friendly in a way that rose the hairs on the back of Roy’s neck. It was never an empty sort of friendliness. No, Hughes felt distinctly like he was always planning something, and the amount of scheming he did only seemed to increase with his inebriation. 

“I’m not drunk, I’m in _love_.” Hughes insisted.

At this, Roy stopped in his tracks, letting the other man stumble and sway on his feet as he fought to stop his own motion. “Fine. You just so happened to also be in love last leave night too.” 

“You’re no fun, you know that?” Came his eerily sobered retort.

In return, Roy pulled them back into stumbling towards the Academy barracks. “So I’ve been told. But of course, that’s why I’m still at the top of our class.” 

Maes’ face contorted, nose wrinkling. “So what? Why waste time being number one with no woman by your side.” He leaned heavily on Roy, resting his head on his shoulder. “I’ll settle for number two and a wife.” 

Rounding the backstreets, Roy guided them to the back of the Academy grounds wordlessly for a moment, hoping for the quietest re-entry of the grounds they could manage. Technically, they weren’t doing anything wrong, although public inebriation as a soldier was generally frowned upon, even on leave days. It was better to avoid any passing Commanders, and simply make for the barracks as quickly as possible. “Is that you admitting I’ve bested you already?” Roy asked casually, pulling them past one of the back buildings along the paved path. 

“Please.” Maes waved off. “I’m still better than you. But maybe you need to find a woman, eh?” His elbow moved, knocking into Roy’s ribs painfully as he nudged him. Roy gasped as the wind was knocked from him, and then he glared back in the other man’s direction. 

“I know plenty of women.” Roy said, gritting through his teeth. “I just don’t try to marry all of them.” 

This drew a very discerning look from Hughes, who rolled his eyes. “You just need to find someone, and maybe then you’ll stop acting like you have a stick shoved up your—“

“—Shh. Do you hear that?” Roy asked sharply, pushing Hughes to the side of one of the buildings. He strained to listen to the sounds, ears picking up on the static noise of a loud radio alert from inside the nearby building. “Sounds like we’re not the only ones awake.” He said calmly, hoping to catch up on whatever seemed so urgent that it was being broadcast at this hour.

“Is it about your dying love life?” Hughes said snickering. 

“Oh shut up,” It wasn’t, it was about the Eastern quarter, from what he heard. They hadn’t mastered all of the military command lingo, and certainly weren’t trusted with enough clearance to know the more confidential codes, but Roy picked up on the mentions of the borders - ‘outer circle - E’ - and the Ishvalans - ‘rubies’ if the message was being relayed by someone who stuck to the official terminology and not something more crass. Whatever it was, it seemed to be unpleasant. “-I think it was just a report from the border conflicts in the East.” 

“Oh. Hmm.” Hughes said smartly, before he peeled away from the wall, and began stumbling back towards the barracks again. Roy quickly followed suit, and was grateful to be approaching their beds again.

They weren’t the first ones back for the night, which said quite a bit, but then it really wasn’t that late, and many of the Cadets took leave to go home for the weekends. Roy creeped in, shoving Hughes towards his bed cot. 

“Next leave day, we’re going to find you a pretty girl, too.” 

“I get the feeling you’re just trying to distract me from studying.” Roy said, pulling off his boots and socks as he sat on the edge of his own bed. At this, Hughes flopped back on his mattress, hands spreading out across the sheets as he grinned wickedly. 

“Whatever would give you that idea?”

“Probably your not so subtle attempts to distract me in a variety of other ways.” He lined his shoes at the side of his bed, tossing the socks into his clothes hamper before he moved to yank off his shirts. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Hughes wriggled on his bed, fighting his boot laces and pants. 

Changing quickly into his night shirt and standard issue military pajama pants, Roy eased into his bed and took a pencil to his nightstand drawer. It took him a moment, but he’d worked out an array to sketch out to lock and unlock the drawer mechanisms to keep prying eyes - mostly Hughes’ snooping - from rifling through his things. When he tapped the finished array with his hands, the drawer popped open with a soft click, and he withdrew his stationary. 

“Hey, Mustang, what’re you doing? That’s not what brown nosing looks like.” Hughes whispered harshly as he leaned over in his pajama bottoms. 

Frowning, Roy tried not to dignify the comment with a direct response. Instead, he simply shook the plain paper and pen for Hughes’ benefit.

“Letter?” Hughes asked. 

“To one of the _many_ women I don’t introduce you to for their own sake.” He replied coolly. Taking his pen in hand, Roy quickly scratched out the date, _1903, Dec. 16_ _th_ _._

“Yeah, what the hell’s up with all the letters you get? I had mail duty the other day, and you had no less than three letters sealed in varying lipstick shades - by _different_ sets of lips.” The fact that Hughes hadn’t knifed them open and glanced through the insides of each and every one of them was probably only because he’d been overseen by a higher up. 

Roy smirked. The Madame’s girls, all sisters, really, were the only ones who signed their letters as such. Although he’d only been gone for a few months, they’d taken turns on sending him letters. They’d even tried out new lipstick colors for fun; a fact which Roy only knew thanks to the sheer amount of lipsticks that had crowded his bathroom counters for most of his life, and his sisters’ demands for _Relishing Red No. 17_ and not _Ravenous Rouge No. 4_. 

It had provided him with an air of popularity amongst kissable females, and more than that, it had made him look a bit more worldly than some of his less competitive classmates. _There was Roy Mustang, top of the class, and ladies’ man._ It was a nice rumor, if there ever was one. 

“I’m told it’s my dreamy face, dark eyes, and lean body. You know how they like it - tall, dark, handsome, clever, and best of all, brooding.” 

“Shame about the tall thing, then.” Hughes piped up, causing Roy to lean over to throw a rolled up sock at his head. Hughes yelped, scooting further to the other side of his bed, and then flopped back against his pillows, before rolling over and grumbling a good night.

When his breathing evened out to a soft snore, Roy began to write. 

_Miss Hawkeye,_

_I see nothing inherently wrong with Yvette’s engagement. Suppose that we aren’t all lucky enough to find_ _Early partner put bit of lumber in wood stove (5,4)_ _? I wouldn’t begrudge them for it. Best wishes to them both._

_I can’t seem to escape the same sort of talk myself. Hughes is particularly concerned with finding a woman, though for what particular reason, I couldn’t tell you. Something about why he’s in the military. Frankly, his family expects the military of him, a notion that isn’t unusual around here…_

_I suppose women are one of the few things Hughes will choose for himself. Although he doesn’t see it quite that way - he told me that he’s here to protect a woman. I suppose he sees the purpose in investing his future, at any rate._

_If the pressure of the ‘young & unmarried’ club becomes too irritating, be sure to tell me, so at the very least we can partner up & commiserate together. That at least, would have the added benefit of deflecting further comments, and keeping us from going insane thanks to our respective roommates. It wouldn’t be easy to work around our ‘Rift shifting eased part  (10)’ but with a little creativity, I’m sure you could tell quite the story about my absence. _

_Aside from that, our punishments for the ‘incident’ are finally over. Luckily for us, as training has picked up its pace. Exams aren’t quite like they were in school which as you know are easy for us, or even like under your father who required us to think on our feet. Here it’s a matter of precision, discipline, and accuracy. I’m immensely grateful for the fact that between your old hunting rifle and my aunt’s revolvers, I’m not fumbling over the rifle mechanics tests here. Frankly I couldn’t bear to have my dismantle and reassemble time be higher than Hughes’. It’s a bit like alchemy really, so I think I shocked everyone who still held the notion that I’m merely book smart._

_Hardly. Engineering has its own practical purposes, and being able to make something without alchemy is immensely satisfying. The composition of it, and the recoil of the rifle once I’ve manually put it together is much more satisfying._

_Sort of like your translations. Something about construction and the end results just makes it worth it. I’m still grateful you explained your approach on it to me. You can be a decent alchemist without ever having touched Xerxian in its original language, but I’d have to spend my career relying on you to be my Academic source if I ever wanted to delve into ancient or classical texts. And knowing the origin of the symbols makes the array construction a thousand times faster. Of course, you already know that…_

_Speaking of Xerxian, I got my hands on a text someone nearly tossed in town because they didn’t know what they had. I thought I’d leave you with a selection from the beginning of one of the passages. It’s not your normal fare, but I thought you’d appreciate my transcriptions all the same:_

Οl-ℜℑ ≡ oecƿultum ∋ Οl ∈Οl≡  ecƿulter Ƿ tem cæ⊕ Ƿtem ℜ-vas, ∉, oeτός, etm mōvilb. Οl liquatio oes manɣfeðstem in vas. Vas oes ℜ-ζivia etm ∴ Οl coæℜ etm♉ ⊂-ℜ verχinder fuēntem etm ⊃ oes ∋⊂. 

 

_Telling you the period in which it was written would give too much away, so I’ll let you dissect that one on your own._

 

_Remember you miss me,_

 

_\- Young, Smart (3, 7)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The xerxian is purposefully completely made up with vague roots in other languages. The rest of the puzzles, however, are in English, so good luck!


	4. Riza's Second Letter - January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Week's Puzzles -- 
> 
> sol. #1 Early partner put bit of lumber in wood stove = “first love” fir + bit of lumber; “L” in “stove” “fir+st(l)ove”
> 
> sol. #2: rift shifting eased part = “separation” ‘eased part’ + i ? (anagram) 
> 
> sol. #3: Young, Smart = Anagram for "Roy Mustang". (No, really. I'm sure Roy thought he was being exceedingly clever.)

The winter winds of Flamel whipped around her skirts, causing Riza to huddle closer with Yvette and their other friend Octavia. For her part, Riza had begun wearing thick woolen leggings underneath her uniform skirt; but even that didn’t cut the fierce edge of the chill entirely. She wasn’t the only one to notice this small affliction either. 

“R-riza, it’s f-f-freezing.” Yvette complained, stumbling after her roommate’s much brisker pace. Octavia looked over her shoulder, falling in step with Riza as she tucked her pale platinum hair back up under her winter cap. Riza shook her head, paying the other two girls little heed as she journeyed further into the marketing district of the city, pushing farther away from the Academy’s gates. 

“You could have stayed behind.” Riza said simply, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “You know I have to run this errand. My father,”

“We know, we know, your father is a right pain—“ Yvette began loudly before Octavia glared, rosy cheeks making her navy blue eyes contrast even more strongly against her skin. 

“-What Yvette means to say, is we know your father is…doing whatever it is alchemists do, but don’t you think this is a bit much? He could have just had the book shipped to him.” 

At this, Riza frowned. There was no need to explain to the two of them the details of why Riza’s weekends spent in Flamel were important for her father. Berthold Hawkeye was a man of few requests for his daughter, and when he insisted upon her obtaining a manuscript or book from Flamel’s most unnerving bookseller, Riza went to collect. The times he paid her heed were usually not unnecessary for his research. Lately, the requests had been even less frequent, as he needed to research less and less, and his health had begun to deteriorate… 

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, and rubbing her shoulder self-consciously, she looked back at them both. “I didn’t say you had to come. I know Mister Abiff is a bit…odd,”

“—You mean Hiram Abiff is absolutely _terrifying_ ,” Yvette cut in, before Riza continued.

“But really, we’re just picking up a book. It’ll be much warmer once we get there.” After all, Theodosius’s Rare and Antique Books was kept at a rather moderate temperature year round for the sake of the manuscripts within. Not only that, this time they weren’t browsing for “something” her father had requested without much of a clue as to what exactly it was. Whatever her father had requested was already ready and waiting as a parcel for Riza to pick up and pay for. Her father had given a rather large envelope - with  a dizzying amount of cenz that made Riza wonder if it had been a good chunk of Roy’s last payment of tuition. 

“If you say so.” Yvette said, before squealing in delight as her eyes alit on a shop on the other side of the street, its windows lit up to display two swirling wedding gowns. With a sigh, Riza slumped as Yvette looked back at them anxiously. 

It was Octavia who nodded politely. “Go ahead and take a quick look. We’ll catch up after we’ve picked up Riza’s book for her father.” Riza watched impassively as the two of them exchanged brief smiles, before Yvette bounced forwards to hug them both. The sudden pressure on her ribs was tight, and then Yvette bounded away, shouting a thank you over her shoulder that met the air with a brilliant white puff. 

When she hit the other side of the street, Riza turned away to look at Octavia more discerningly. Picking up her pace back towards the bookshop, she commented quietly, “Do you still have feelings for her?” 

Their boots ground against the crisp ice, breaking up the momentary silence of Octavia’s hesitant pause. “I don’t think I was being that obvious, Riza.” She defended lightly, drawing her chin up as she rearranged her scarf around her neck to cover more of her flush. 

“Maybe you weren’t to her, but I know you.” True enough, Octavia’s politeness was hard to distinguish from her actual feelings, but Riza was perceptive enough to spot the distinct wistful look in her gaze as Yvette scurried across the street. Riza’s lips curved into a smile as she shook her head. 

Octavia elbowed her gently. “You see too much for your own good. You know I’m genuinely happy for her.” She said, turning to continue to walk. “-It’s just that not all of us are looking for a nice husband to support us while we run the family business.”

Walking quickly to keep up, Riza laughed. “Well not everyone is looking to get married. But I see your point.” It surely couldn’t have been easy to be surrounded by girls mostly interested in boys. 

“It is what it is. I can’t imagine my parents realized what they were doing enrolling me in an all girl’s boarding school.” At this, Octavia laughed warmly, her voice ringing like a bell. Riza raised a brow thoughtfully, and then ducked her head as they approached the book shop. 

“We all have to get over some people eventually, you know? Yvette’s my friend first. Besides I’ve got my eye on someone else lately, and _that_ one might actually go my way.” Octavia added, pulling open the door to Theodosius’ Books, letting Riza haul herself inside before stumbling in after her. 

“Really?” Riza whispered curiously, as she craned her neck to peer around the rows of bookshelves.

 The inside of the bookshop had an eerie decrepit air to it, like something more than just dead languages was kept within its walls. The scent was undeniable, a mix of dust, aging parchment, and crumbling leather succumbing to one of many afflictions that plagued old volumes of books. Riza wrinkled her nose, and blinked to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. Behind her Octavia coughed sharply, choking on motes of dust. 

“…Yeah. Hey Riza, let’s make this trip quick. It does something awful to my ability to breathe in here.” Her eyes watered slightly as she hacked again, this time loudly enough to draw the attention of the very man Riza was looking for. 

Hiram Abiff was more than just tall. At over six feet, his skin stretched tightly over his body, making him look like a rather tense skeleton. And if her father was old fashioned in his dress, Master Abiff looked like he belonged in another century entirely. Perhaps that was somewhat true; while Riza had been born in 1887, she found herself quite comfortable with the turning of the century. Men like her father, however, seemed to recall a time before her birth that they deemed as inherently better. It was a time that was marked with elaborate high collars, and worn silk waist coats under fading black coats. The fact that he didn’t smell faintly of mothballs was probably only because Master Abiff smelled rather strongly of withering flowers, dried ink, and some sort of strong chemical tang that Riza hoped was for book curation and not something more sinister. 

Knowing her father’s usual contacts, she could never be wholly sure. 

“Master Abiff,” Riza blurted out quickly as he sharply gazed down at them both. He raised a craggy white brow at them, then looked down his aquiline nose at Octavia. 

“You young ladies should be more keen to use handkerchiefs if your lungs are so acutely affected.” He chided, carrying on as if Riza hadn’t said so much as a single word. “Miss Hawkeye. I’ve been expecting you. Allow me to retrieve your father’s package.” 

Nodding once, Riza took a step backwards, allowing for a wide berth between them and Hiram Abiff as he strode down the labyrinth of books easily and moved to the back walls of the shop. Somewhere in the back Riza knew he kept his locked materials that were often fetched forth at her father’s prices, but Riza had never personally cared to examine the back room for herself. It had required Abiff’s constant supervision, and she had found herself much more interested in the rarer history volumes that populated the well lit sections of the store. 

Between her and her father, the one understood ‘pleasurable’ expense they both shared had always been books. Riza had begun to scan the spines of a particular shelf while she waited, while Octavia hovered at her side, leaning over her to glance further down the row. 

“Look at that,” she said leaning over Riza’s shoulder to whisper in her ear. “Weren’t you looking for another book on Xerxian translations? I thought you had some extra work assigned by Madam Elaine since you started working as her assistant this term.” The book in question stood out as a black leather bound volume, thick and compact with molded ridges on the sides. The spine read ‘Xerxian Translations - Magnus’ in peeling gold lettering. 

Without a second thought, Riza pulled the tome from the shelf, and smiled. “Something like that. I was given some additional words, and I’m all but done piecing it out, but Magnus is the expert on advanced translational theory. You’ll have to start using his texts if you continue on through the advanced classes.”Octavia nodded, watching Riza crack open the book gently in both hands. “My father actually has dozens of his books, but we don’t have this copy at home in the library.” 

Pursing her lips, Octavia glanced over the inner texts and then shook her head. “No wonder you’re such an amazing student Riza. To have all those books just lying around in your library, like a small university.” She grabbed a book from another shelf and flipped the smaller bound folio open. From Riza’s vantage point, she glanced at the poetry translations, recognizing the verses she’d begun her studies on Xerxian with. 

“Well, when my father was busy there were only so many things I could entertain myself with. I spent a few summers studying botany and zoology in the area behind our home, but I ended up liking history and translations better. And my father wasn’t as fond of the taxidermy as he was the epics.” It wasn’t a matter of bragging rights, every girl at the Academy was quite intelligent and educated in their own rights. But Berthold Hawkeye had largely been at a loss as to how to raise a young girl when a governess wasn’t present, so Riza had naturally been pursuant of activities that fell in line with her scholarly father. On the rare occasions that he had gone on strolls with her, Riza had her curiosity and passions sparked by her father’s wealth of knowledge on a multitude of subjects. ‘ _Why’_ had been the one question that her father had truly respected. 

“Taxidermy? Like dead animals?” Octavia said, setting the book she had leafed through back on the shelf. “Eurgh.” 

“It was rather like dissections in our sciences classes last year. I took up ornithology, and later I took to hunting a few of my specimens. My father thought it was an excellent science but disliked when I brought things home.” So she’d stopped, moving on to other things and picking up hunting as a once in awhile hobby rather than a frequent one. 

“I’m telling you, it’s completely different to grow up with a father who’s a lawyer…I wish I could have traded places with you. Talking about legal theory just sounds dull in comparison.” Octavia complained, brushing back her hair as she looked back towards the rest of the shop. 

“I don’t know, surely litigation has its seductive appeal…” 

A shadow fell over them both, and Riza looked up in shock at Master Abiff looming back over them both, a small wooden crate within his hands. 

Saying nothing about their conversation, but keeping his sharp gaze fixated on them both, he handed the box to Riza, who quickly clutched it tightly to balance out its sudden hefty weight in her hands.  “I presume you’ll be taking that Magnus book as well, Miss Hawkeye?” he asked with a weighty sniff of approval.

“Please, if you would also package it for me, I’ll pay my father’s charges, as well as that book.” Riza said stiffly, as Octavia stepped forwards to help her balance the crate and book while she reached into her leather Academy case for her father’s money. Riza pulled out the envelope of bills and stepped towards the register’s counter after Master Abiff. His slender, waxy fingers had already wound themselves around an old fashioned dip ink pen, where he was writing out the costs on a receipt. Riza placed the envelope onto the counter, certain that she had more than enough cenz for the purchase. 

It was then that without looking up, Hiram Abiff managed to run a chill through her bones.

“Tell me Miss Hawkeye, the community of Flamel is rather inquisitive as to know; how goes your father’s research?The last we heard he had some sort of apprentice boy and was insisting he wasn’t finished yet with his _wonder_.” 

If there had been a candle in the room instead of oil lamps, the flames would have died upon his luxuriating exhale. Master Abiff leaned over the counter, watching Riza’s face intently as she forced herself to school her features into her father’s solid, unflinching gaze. He saw beyond the world around him, beyond expectations of the others, and so too would she. Octavia tensed visibly in uncertainty as Riza straightened, adjusting her brown bag over her shoulder. The beginnings of thick, winding maroon serpents suddenly felt alive on her back, curving and tightening around her spine as she spoke calmly and quietly, her voice leveling with an unspoken warning. “The apprentice came to the end of his studies. My father, however, is most pleased with his progress.” The diplomacy barely squeaked out between her hard brandy glare, as he withdrew her funds and counted out the bills quickly. 

“I suppose we won’t be seeing the end results, of course. Berthold has always been notoriously secretive about his endeavors.” Abiff said, slipping the change back into Riza’s envelope as he opened up the cash register and deposited her funds. “Of course, everyone must leave behind their research at some point…”

At this, Riza snatched the envelope off of his counter, and gracefully flicked her bag back open, placing the cash inside before she took the books back from Octavia. “My condolences for your curiosity of course, Master Abiff. My father has no plans to publish his Codex Alchemia, and even if someone were to be privy to that information, I can assure you it wouldn’t mysteriously fall into your hands.” It would never fall to anyone’s hands without her. 

 Knowing her hands would begin to shake if she stayed any longer, Riza added a terse, “Good Day, Sir.” Before she turned on her heel, and fled with a confused Octavia in tow.

The wall of chilled air hit her in a dizzying manner, but didn’t manage to blot out the hot, burning feeling in her stomach that rose as her heart pounded in her ears. 

“Riza, what was that all about?” Octavia asked, panting to catch up to her friend’s brisk pace down the street as she fought to put as much distance between herself and Hiram Abiff’s prying, _knowing_ eyes. 

Riza stopped, catching her breath on a street corner for a moment, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts and wits. How absurd. Of course he didn’t know. He couldn’t possibly have seen the beginnings of the tattoo her father had spent days inking into her skin with nearly surgical precision underneath her winter coat. There was a certain edge of competitiveness and cut throat reactions from other alchemists that Riza had come to expect ever since two of them from the North had tried to break into her home and steal her father’s notes when she was eight. It had been the first time someone had tried to steal her father’s things, but it didn’t end up being the last. Just the most dangerous attempt. 

Shaking her head at Octavia, she waved a hand, as if to stall on speaking further. Breathe. She could breathe. 

The only way Hiram Abiff would see the results of her father’s work would be if she passed the knowledge onto someone. If she showed an alchemist her father’s work…But the tattoo wasn’t done. And Riza had quietly agreed with her father that the tattoo had a practicality beyond the typical manuscripts and codes, had an insurance of security now that his health was slipping. At the time, it seemed the only option to record something else under her skin, this time visibly and permanently. Something strictly her own to safeguard, more records to contain. Berthold’s request had been out of an understanding that his daughter knew the importance of bearing his life’s work, and Riza had assented knowing that her father was allowing the idea that the power of passing it on would be hers. 

In the instance that her father was unable to pass it on himself, it would be up to her, and that was a power that she hadn’t met before. It was the only assurance the tattoo gave her.

 

Riza swallowed, and then looked back at Octavia apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s an alchemy thing. Really, it’s not too important. Could you,” she stumbled, searching for the right word. “Could you talk about this other girl again? What were you going to say earlier?”

“I-“ Octavia said, before she sucked in a breath and then gave Riza a weak smile. “Yeah, I was going to say first crushes in a place are overrated.” She bit her painted pink bottom lip, and then chewed uneasily. “…Do you know Florence in upper former?” 

The name felt vaguely familiar, and Riza focused her memory on it as she began to move back down the streets, heading towards the tailor’s gown shop again. “The red head? She’s one of the Professor’s daughters isn’t she?” 

Octavia nodded. “I’ve got her tutoring me in maths. She’s really wonderful, I mean absolutely _lovely_ , and, well, you _know_.” She pinked, blushing at the thought. Riza remained grateful for the change of topic, and prompted Octavia to continue talking. 

“Any bites?” Riza said as she frowned at a large military truck rolling down the street she had intended to cross. 

“I’m just glad she’s not tutoring me in languages. I had an occupied mouth last session, if you catch my drift. I think we might continue on, maybe see the play next weekend in town.” Octavia said, mustering as much polite dignity as she could, crossing her arms over her chest as the truck finally finished its turn in front of them. 

Laughing, Riza nodded. “I understand getting distracted from studies, even if I’m not Yvette. Good for you. She’s a nice girl.” 

They hurried across the street, making their way to the front windows of the shop they’d let Riza’s roommate loose upon. 

“I think it’s time, anyways.” Octavia said with a bright look in her eyes as she pushed the door of the store open. “Yvette, have you found anything to stroll down the aisle in?” she called.

“Come see, ladies!” Yvette’s voice called back from further into the store. Riza and Octavia shrugged at each other, stepping into the back dressing room spaces. There, Yvette stood perched on a small pedestal as one of the women running the store fussed over the muted blue gown that draped evenly to the floor. It had a shallow scoop neck, with a soft floral pattern that picked up hints of green, setting off the thick shining ribbon tied in her dark hair. A lace band narrowed her drop waist, and Yvette turned gracefully despite the pins in the sample dress to smile over at them both. 

“Is that your favorite?” Riza asked, as Octavia circled their friend, inspecting the dress itself closer. The tailor stepped back, evidently assured that she had sufficiently put the dress on. “It’s beautiful, but you should have your mother come see it before you decide.”

Yvette glanced back at the mirror, taking in her reflection. “Marry in blue, you’ll always be true.” She recited happily. “But you’re right, my mother needs to see this before I set my heart on it.” A brief flicker of something Riza recognized as pity crossed her face before she admired herself once more in the mirror. 

“Still, I look quite the military bride, don’t I?”

“-It’s perfect, if that’s what you’re looking for, Miss.” The tailor piped up happily. 

Riza hummed in agreement, as Octavia stepped back, and nodded in approval. “I think we’re all in agreement about that,” she said, returning to Riza’s side. 

“But speaking of the military,” Riza added, “We saw trucks rolling through the streets. I’m guessing they’re heading to the academy, too. It wouldn’t be the first time the boarding schools here have offered to put up soldiers in their spare classrooms while they’re being transferred.” 

Yvette sighed, and then nodded. “If you’ll excuse us, we ought to be going. I’ll just change out and bring my mother back some other weekend.” She explained to the tailor, stepping off the platform to head back to the changing rooms. 

“You really think they’re heading for the school?” Octavia asked, as she moved to inspect another dummy dressed in a creamy light yellow dress. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised. I had to help them set up last time to make accommodations, and Yvette and I hosted one of the female privates on our floor.” She’d been a nice enough woman, if not quiet. Riza thought it was wonderful, Yvette had felt frustrated with yet another roommate who was laconic - if only because they didn’t talk nearly as much as she did. 

“I guess we’re lucky we’re so far from the borders here. Any further west, and we’d be in Central, wouldn’t we?” 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. Central is still a few hours by train. But that’s why we keep getting troops moving through Flamel to go further east. Father was furious the one time they made a stop through Ashford.” There’d been a precise reason why he’d avoided a bigger city, and had continued to live in his family’s countryside manor instead. Some time long ago, Riza had remembered another, bigger house within the city, but it had been sold, and they had remained far out of the way from others. When the military came knocking at their door in Ashford, Berthold Hawkeye had become an embodiment of cold fury. The recruiters had left, eventually. But only after it had become clear that they would gain nothing by sticking around. 

From behind them, Yvette walked out, bundled back into her winter things. “Not much of a patriot, is he?” She asked, calmly adjusting her hair ribbon. 

Riza shook her head. “My father’s a scientist, not a patriot. He and the military have…less than pleasant relations. He’s refused to be a state alchemist countless times now.”

Yvette snickered, and moved for the door. “Sounds like our Riza is being the Queen of understatement again.” 

“Your father was _asked_ to be a state alchemist?” Octavia said in awe. 

Riza shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. “The military recruits for alchemists, actually.” 

They began to meander back down the streets, heading towards the school gates in the academic quarter of the city. Turning a corner, Yvette continued the conversation gamely. “I always thought you had a bit of a knack for politics, really, Riza. We declare concentrations next year, after all, you always seemed to understand more about current events than I did. And you’re saying your father doesn’t care for the government?”

Riza raised a brow. “I said he doesn’t care for the _military._ The Government he despises a little less. At any rate, I was going to study ancient political history, maybe literature. Hardly something that will be objectionable, or full of any controversy.” 

Octavia snorted. “You don’t act like it Riza, but we all know what’s going on when you submit your review papers to the local Academic journals.”

At this, Riza looked up. “Are you claiming I’m an objectionable person?” She said, mildly offended by the accusation.

“I think what Yvette is _trying_ to say,” Octavia said clearly over the rush over another automobile hunkering past, “Is that you tend to object strongly to things you think are wrong, just very politely. And with footnotes.”

Yvette snickered, bringing her scarf to her mouth as Riza whipped around to glare at her. “Oh come on, Riz. I think you know you have strong opinions. Birds of a feather, right?”

At this, both girls burst into gales of laughter, falling through the open black iron gates of the Academy grounds. Riza sighed heavily, her exasperation whiting out the air before her. 

“You’re both ridiculous.” She said with a straight face, before looking back towards the dormitories. The largest central academic building had been surrounded by military trucks, and Riza’s stomach turned. The campus took on a different sort air when it was being occupied, one that felt vaguely uncomfortable. 

The presence of the newly enlisted made her wonder what Roy looked like in his own uniform. If he had the same sort of squared out stance now, instead of his usual rakish demeanor. She frowned to herself.

“…I’m going to head back to Marian Hall. I need to put the books in the room, and finish that additional translation.” She said suddenly, as Octavia and Yvette gathered themselves.

“We’ll be in the library, if you need us.” Yvette said, catching Octavia’s concerned look. As much as Riza had tried to put her temporary panic after leaving the bookstore out of her mind, it was obvious to her friends she was still out of sorts. But not willing to bring it up with them, Riza gave them a weak smiled and figured she would owe them brewed tea and friendlier chats later. 

“If I manage to finish this before dinner, I’ll come meet you both there.” Riza said gratefully, before she separated from her friends with a slight wave, and made her way back to their dorms. 

Marian hall was the closest thing to home Riza could get to for the moment, and not willing to make the trip back to Ashford that particular weekend, a little seclusion in an empty room would have to do. Like all the girls at Flamel, Riza had fostered a certain sense of pride in her campus House, and its brother at the boy’s half of the Academy across the street. Her hall had provided more than identity or support, it had been a matter of pride to have been placed in the same dormitory as her late-mother had been. The Marian girls, as it was well known, were really something else. 

Deep maroon tapestries hung from the entrance hall walls, and the Marian hall pattern decorated every minor accent in the study rooms. Riza’s room was located in prime territory, as most girls well knew - she’d had prime choice in her placement being the top of her class, and instead of shying away modestly, Riza had taken the school up on its offer. Hers and Yvette’s room occupied the large tower above Marian’s personal library. The reason it was the most desirable room in the hall was three-fold: first, it was the most private room, it was one of the largest aside from the House Mother’s and the prefect’s, and thirdly it was blessedly quiet but still close enough to everyone else for some socialization. 

This time, Riza was banking on her end of the hall being mostly empty, and her walk going mostly undisturbed. She slipped her key into the lock quietly, flicking the door open with a click before she noticed the small paper announcement posted to her heavy wooden door. 

_The Amestrian National Military and Flamel Boarding Academy for Girl’s ask you to fulfill your patriotic duty, starting at approximately 0800 hours. You, RIZA HAWKEYE and YVETTE HADLEY should prepare to expect to host PRIVATE PAULINE WELSH._

Riza tore the notice deftly from the door, before she dumped it on the end table by the door where she and Yvette kept a bowl for their keys. Slinging her bag over her chair, she collapsed before her desk, pulling out her stationary and pens, along with the letter she had set aside. 

Working her fingers over her temple as she eased her headache, Riza returned to her earlier purchase in consultation with Roy’s last letter. She had put her reply off, the end of her translation missing a few patchy pieces that would confirm its original source. 

Now that she had another source to consult, however, the answers became obvious, and Riza bit her lip as she uncapped her pen and began to jot out her brief reply. 

 _Mister Mustang,_ Riza looped quickly, her gaze flipping back and forth between his letter and the open page of her new book. 

_Nothing amiss, ingrate! (7), you? It took me some time to translate your passage, in part because some of us are solely focused on our work and not our social lives, and in part because you were hoping to throw me off. It’s written largely in the ancient high form of Xerxian, but I recognized its unmistakeable classical prose form._

Sucking the nib of her pen for a moment, Riza paused, reviewing the notes she’d placed in the margins of his last letter. 

_Only you would have the arrogance to send me Paracelus’ Book of Vexations:_

_“All things are concealed in all. One of them all is the concealer of the rest – their corporeal vessel, external, visible, and movable. All liquefactions are manifested in that vessel. For the vessel is a living and corporeal spirit, and so all coagulations or congelations enclosed in it, when prevented from flowing and surrounded, are not therewith content.” I’m quite sure you thought it was clever, but I’ve read the Coelum Philosophorum translated before. My only vexation was the writing style vs. the vernacular._

But I’m sure you already knew that, Riza thought as she wrote her mind’s dialogue down in addition to her translation. Glancing at the clock, she saw it wind to three o’clock before she twisted her wrist and continued writing.

_As for the navigation of the nagging I’ve received, and my status as single or not: consider it Snub I use for nosy one (4,2,4,8). After all, you’re the one who had other matters to attend to. I’ll let you figure out your own reasons; leave using my name out of it. What if this Hughes fellow found out you’d just been talking? That mouth of yours really will get you into trouble._

It really wasn’t up to Roy to decide after they had parted ways that they could use each other as alibis, or defenses. And while the part of Riza that was Roy’s friend felt that using him as an excuse would be just fine, the other part of her - the part that had been with him in his bed - felt otherwise. It was dishonest in a way Riza didn’t care to be with her friends without good reason. Worse, it was dishonest about the state of their relationship.

“You really can pull a girl along, can’t you, Roy Mustang?” Riza sighed, slumping over her desk. She took a deep breath, and braced herself for a rapid (necessary) subject change in her letter. 

_I’m pleased to hear gun training is going well for the Cadets. I suspect you notice the difference in discipline because now you’re actually being held to it. I can only hope today’s visiting officers have developed similar displays of restraint. Yvette will be thrilled with supporting our temporary guest, but I can’t help but feel things aren’t improving further East any._

_S uxyg iye’fo cod iyeb wsxn yx sd, led S drsxu wi pkdrob sc bsqrd. Ofobidrsxq myevn rkfo loox pshon li xyg, led sd poovc vsuo sd’c qoddsxq gybco. Dro Wsvsdkbi cryevn rkfo nyxo cywodrsxq nomscsfo li xyg. Go’fo loox coosxq dbyyzc wyfo drbyeqr Pvkwov wybo kxn wybo pboaeoxdvi. Ofobi yxmo sx kgrsvo, go’vv rokb k bewyb yp k bozybd, led sd’c mvokb drsxqc kbo losxq uozd csvoxd sx dro yppsmskv wonsk bozybdc. Iye cryevn lo qbkdopev iye’bo dbksxsxq dy lo kx yppsmob. Iye’n kvwycd mobdksxvi lo qysxq pebdrob Okcd sp iye’n oxvscdon nsbomdvi. Osdrob gki, lydr yzdsyxc coow vocc kzzokvsxq drkx myxdsxesxq cdenisxq, sp iye kcu wo._

 

She didn’t add: _Stay safe. I do miss you._ Instead, Riza simply added,

_I promised to meet Tammy, Elinor, and Nancy for a study group later today. I’ll write more next time._

_— R. Hawkeye_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your biggest clue to solving Riza's code is to _add_ "Tammy, Elinor, and Nancy" for the key.


	5. Roy's 3rd Letter - Feburary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solution's to last week's puzzles: 
> 
> Nothing amiss ingrate! (7), you?  
> Answer: missing. An &Lit. (Or & literally so,) puzzle, which is marked by an exclamation point. Amiss+ingrate = aMISS+INGrate
> 
> Snub I use for nosy one (4 2 4 8) - anagram  
> Answer: none of your business
> 
> Riza's coded note: The key is simply +Tammy, Elinor, Nancy. Or plus ten letters to every letter given. I.E. A = J, (A=a+10).
> 
> Decoded, the message reads: 
> 
> "I know you’ve set your mind on it, but I think my father is right. Everything could have been fixed by now, but it feels like it’s getting worse. The Military should have done something decisive by now. We’ve been seeing troops move through Flamel more and more frequently. Every once in awhile, we’ll hear a rumor of a report, but it’s clear things are being kept silent in the official media reports. You should be grateful you’re training to be an officer. You’d almost certainly be going further East if you’d enlisted directly. Either way, both options seem less appealing than continuing studying, if you ask me."

It was a rare day when Hughes didn’t intentionally try to steal the last of any food in the mess lines. So when he purposefully didn’t snatch at the last slice of apple pie, Roy plucked it deftly from the counters and set it on his tray. Hughes wasn’t fighting with him over food for one reason, and one reason only.

“Really, what’s pissed in your canteen?” Maes pressed, as he took one of the bowls of pudding in lieu of pie. At this comment, Roy’s brows furrowed in deeper irritation.

He scowled at Hughes. “I already told you, it’s nothing.” The very fact that he couldn’t possibly explain it to Hughes - the latest letter from Riza, her adamance to be left out of his stories, her simple and straightforwards solving of his puzzles - only compounded his annoyance. Hughes didn’t need to pester him for the details any more. In fact, there was plenty of other things going on that Roy would have rather focused on.

The Military Academy halls had been buzzing with people rushing to get things done in time for the quarter’s inspection. For his part, Roy was grateful for the brief lunch break in the mess hall, falling against the hard wooden bench across from Maes Hughes with his tray full of food. Hughes looked up, glancing precariously at Roy, brow tipping up visibly over the line of his rectangular framed glasses. Things were happening in the military school, and between the two of them, Hughes was more likely to worm information out of people, but Roy was more likely to simply happen upon the answers.

If only his knowledge really came that easily, Roy thought. 

“So,” Hughes said, leaning over the table as he twisted his fork in his fingers. “Seems like the place is a madhouse. We’ve been preparing for some of the big boys in the brass for most of the month but…” he trailed off, green cat eyes watching Roy’s expression intently. 

Roy continued to cut his chicken calmly as Maes stared him down. “But what? The Instructors want to show off, and us measly cadets want to be noticed by the important officers. That’s not surprising.” 

Leaning his chin onto his hand, Maes snorted. “There’s something else. What’s up with all this hoopla? You’d think they were here for something more than some showboating.” This brought a smug sort of look to Hughes’ face that normally would have had Roy frowning in response (despite whatever Riza claimed, Roy probably had a less troublesome mouth than Hughes did). This time however, Roy bit back his exasperated sigh, eyes widening as a familiar face strode up behind his fellow cadet.

It was hard to say who was more surprised; Roy who had caught the General walking up behind them, or Hughes who had been snuck up upon. Pushing back from the table, Roy snapped off a sharp salute in time for the other man to chortle with bemusement. 

“Showboat indeed.” He said, as Maes scrambled to stand at attention.

“Ah,” Maes began smartly, having been taken off guard. 

“—Major General Grumman, _sir_.” Roy said crisply as the General laughed again and waved off his salute. 

“At ease boys, take a seat. I hope you don’t mind, Cadet—? But I thought I would drop in for a small chat.” Grumman set his own tray down besides Hughes’ lunch. Roy didn’t have to look too carefully to know that the fare the General was eating was going to be a fair sight better than the stuff on his own plate. He sat down as the other boy managed, “Cadet Maes Hughes, Sir.” 

The expression Hughes shot him angled somewhere between annoyance (as if Roy was intentionally showing off) and interest (why had a General approached them both?). Roy simply kept a straight face, and began to eat his chicken calmly as the General looked them both over. 

Greying handlebar mustache twitching under his nose, Roy recognized the face Grumman made when he had something to say. This certainly hadn’t been the first time they’d met, and Roy knew quite well why their relationship was going to appear to be firmly settled in familial connections of a vague sort. For obvious reasons, Grumman’s connections to his information-gathering, bar-owning Aunt weren’t meant for casual conversation. So like everything else, Roy had learned to keep the details vague and consistent. 

Grumman did the same, less for Roy’s sake, and more for his own. “How did the entrance exam treat you, Cadet Mustang?” he asked politely. 

“I treated it fairly well, sir. The second highest tester after myself is Cadet Hughes. I angled over his score by a narrow margin.” 

“Very narrow.” Hughes added helpfully.

 Grumman smiled, amusement and calculation in his eyes. “I’m sure you make for an excellent competitive team. As for the showboating, I’m sure you’ve heard a few things here and there…” he paused, waiting for Roy to fill in what he knew. 

This was an old trick his foster mother used, one that Roy knew well. If he revealed what he knew first, then he would only get new information in return, and moreover, he wouldn’t be told something he shouldn’t have known. Roy set down his knife and fork, and met the General’s gaze. “Well I know people are pushing for more alchemists, that’s why you suggested I take the entrance exam-“ Hughes leaned forwards in more obvious interest, but Roy continued. “-Still, alchemists are a rare breed even if the Military is pushing the State Alchemy program now. They might find one, maybe two candidates in the upperclassmen’s ranks, none of which have my training. And it’s too early to be pulling the juniors out for their final service year.” 

Unless they were just scoping out the options, but that felt a little odd to Roy. A man like Grumman, a ranking General in Central City, had better things to be doing than dallying around even the top school in the country. The memories of the radio transmissions he’d overheard months ago flickered through his thoughts, however, and he briefly considered what Riza’s encoded message had meant. Her tone had been more than its usual chiding; this time she seemed downright upset with him for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The rebellions in the East were getting worse, but those were mostly enlisted officers working as M.P.s working on the riots. True, they’d begun to get a little bloodier, and the spread was increasingly worrisome, but Roy had no ability to control or command the army’s dealings with such things. 

“They’re not thinking of expediting graduations, are they? Eastern Academy has had enrollment problems, people need the money of enlisting now and not becoming an officer later. Western and Southern have their own borders to train for, and Northern is a defense heavy school. That would leave Central, by all rights…” 

Grumman’s interest switched from curiosity to impression. “I don’t think you’ll be graduating any time soon Cadet, but it’s all very exciting, isn’t it? Whether the program can be expedited any remains to be seen. But as I’m sure your friend here knows, if we know what young officers to look out for, you can bet these old boys will snatch them up as soon as they’re commissioned.” 

Hughes and Roy both nodded silently. For Hughes, military connections within his family already gave him a bent that Roy lacked. Still, while blood was thicker than water, Roy had his own ‘family’ connections. Grumman frequented his Aunt’s bar less for his whisky neat and more for her information; it had only been a matter of time before Roy’s evident admiration of the jovial (sly) man in the uniform had manifested into some sort of unofficial meeting. Before they had even talked together in person, Grumman had been the one to encourage his Aunt to find him an alchemy tutor, a master if it was possible. Roy’s aptitude for basic alchemy and the sciences was an excellent leading foundation, and something he could do long before he turned eighteen. When he had finally sat down with the man on his own time, Roy’s aptitude had been nurtured into a skill, and that had been when he’d chosen to apply to the Academy. 

At the time it was just a lingering suggestion of something he thought he’d enjoy doing. Now, however, he had to live out his choices. A Mustang, his Aunt said, always saw things through to the end. 

“Being a State Alchemist will make the process different than what Hughes here will go through.” Roy said, raising a brow. 

“You seem awfully certain about that.” Hughes retorted with a snort. 

Roy shrugged. “You need a sponsor to even take the exam for State Certification. They have to rank major or higher. And then you’re put under the direct command of your sponsor.”

Grumman nodded, but Hughes gave Roy a sardonic look. “I meant about passing the test. No one’s passed it before under the age of twenty-five. You really think you’re going to beat that?” 

“I could pass it now.” Roy replied confidently. “But the General suggested that people would take my bid and his application more seriously if I was at least mostly through the officer’s program. And I wanted to perfect my specialties.”

“Specialties? As in plural?” Hughes said dubiously. Roy shrugged. To be fair, he had never learned Flame Alchemy - yet, surely Master Hawkeye would calm down and change his mind - but he’d begun to develop other useful theories and could do a remarkable amount of things that weren’t flame alchemy. 

“You only need one thing to become a State Alchemist. But knowing a few other things can’t hurt.” Roy explained quietly, catching Grumman’s gaze once more. The older man seemed to know something that he wasn’t going to tell Roy, or at least not say out loud for the moment.

“I expect you’ll be finding me in a few years then.” Grumman mused. 

“I would be quite honored to have you sponsor my examination, General Grumman, Sir.” Roy said politely. “As much as your colleagues want more Alchemists, I doubt many of them would give me the opportunity too quickly.”

“That is the difference between myself and them,” the General supposed. “-I have heard quite a few things about that Alchemy teacher of yours…”

* * *

 

Later in the evening, when they finally had time to themselves Hughes had cornered Roy into talking. It was more than enough that the brass of Amestris were walking around; but Roy had been singled out by one of them. That had sparked more than just Hughes’ interest. People had noticed that once again, Roy Mustang couldn’t be quite pinned down they way they had previously thought. The notion made Roy smile smugly to himself. Having people scramble to readjust their assumptions was always a good feeling. 

“Don’t tell me,” Hughes managed as he flopped onto his bed. “You just happen to know a General in the Amestrian Army.” 

Roy shrugged. “He was only a Colonel when I met him for the first time.” 

“ _Only?”_ Hughes pressed. 

“I didn’t meet him for quite awhile. It’s a family connection. At any rate, he’s a good part of the reason why I’m here.” 

Hands delving into his pockets, Hughes nodded. “Sure, I get that. See a big guy on the military block, say to yourself you want to be like that. You would never waste all those brains on just enlisting. Hell, being an officer pays more. That all makes sense. What I don’t get is what he was trying to get out of talking to you in front of the entire mess.” 

Roy gave his classmate a confused look. Hughes held up his hands, and paused before he spoke. “Hear me out: You two know each other for whatever reason. Fine. Everyone knows someone. No one thought you knew anyone, but I suspect you were letting people think that.” 

Continuing his silence, Roy waited for Maes to finish. 

“But why single you out and let people know? You might be a showy asshole Mustang, but no one can deny you’re a showy ass with style. So what’s the angle?”

With a heavy sigh, Roy looked over at Hughes. “The Brass are here to see how the new waves of cadets are doing. I hear they’re lowering the age of enrollment considering the situation out East, to streamline the officer’s process.” It probably wouldn’t be them who graduated early. As freshman Cadets, there were plenty of upperclassmen to cull from the group and push forwards into the ranks. 

“A little measured attention could be beneficial. If in two or three years, they’re willing to let me test into the State Alchemy program before I graduate because of that…”

Pushing up his glasses, Maes stared at the floor in thought for a moment, working Roy’s words over in his mind. Explaining it felt silly to say out loud, but Grumman was a clever man and a mean chess player. It was always a plan for the older man, always something.

Finally, Hughes looked like he had settled on something, and he looked back up at Roy. “It’s crazy. But you _are_ an alchemist. I guess this is all par for the course.”

“Crazy?” 

“All this planning and nonsense.” Hughes shrugged. “It’s about thirty steps ahead of where you are now. But I’m no alchemist, that sort of over thinking your entire career…I’m going to graduate and stay in Central if I can help it. Get married. You know, goals that make sense.” 

“You’re not saying you’re second in the class just because you feel like it, Hughes.” Roy said. 

“No, I’m _almost_ first because I’m damn good at what I do. My ambitions just aren’t ‘be a state alchemist before the age of twenty-five’ which by all rights, is pretty crazy.” 

“It’s not crazy. Just because people haven’t done it before—“ 

Hughes threw his hands up. “Look, the fact that we’re both nuts to be in the military in the first place aside, say you and I ride neck and neck for the next two or three years. You graduate in the top ten in our class, because fuck it, I figure it has to be us two, and maybe MacKellen in the mix, and some dark horses.” Green eyes narrowed at Roy. “Then you’re at the top of your class, and pick anywhere you want to be for your commission. You’ll go with Grumman, then work your way up the ranks and I don’t know, do whatever it is that compelled you to join the ranks of the most thankless job on the planet. You’ve got that in the bag.”

Hughes’ hands slipped into his pockets and he shrugged. “What do you have to _prove_ with this alchemy stuff, anyways?”

“If you have the ability to do something great, don’t you have the responsibility to do it?” Roy asked, as he finally sat down on his own bed. Pulling out his paper and pens, he settled against his headboard, leaning back as he heard Maes sigh across from him. 

“And here I was hoping it was one of those mystery women who write you. Alas, my battle buddy is nothing more than a Grade-A brown noser.”

“Shut up, Hughes.” Roy retorted, uncapping his pen and jotting down the date of his letter. 

_Miss Hawkeye,_

“Dear Red Lipstick Print,” Hughes narrated enthusiastically. “Today I told the very attractive and single Cadet Hughes—“

_That’s not fair to priest being converted (1,7), on the accounts of both my arrogance and my mouth. I had assumed you appreciated the latter, and put up with the former._

“-- that I am removing myself from the pool of eligible bachelors because no woman could possibly meet the standards of my one, truest love.” 

_Huge Shames wouldn’t know whether to believe me or not anyways, given the rest of my letters. In the end, it’s up to you._

Roy arched a brow at Hughes, waiting for the other boy to finish his tirade. “Our fair lady and great nation, Amestris.” Hughes breathed, falling back flat on his back dramatically. 

“You’re ridiculous.” Roy said, rolling his eyes.

_As for your other concerns,_ _Nine large bananas, usually (2,7) things aren’t quite as dire as your father might suspect. Certainly not here, anyways. The commanders also seem relatively confidant about things; I spoke with the General who recruited me again today, and he seemed nonplussed. With any luck, it will die down on its own._

_And as for as much as you comment on my studying, I think it’s obvious enough that I do just fine; and certainly there are no distractions here of your calibre._

_Whatever your inclinations towards recreation are now, I don’t have time to do much more than write letters. The little free time I do have it usually at Hughes’ leisure and antics._

“I’m just trying to warn you off from your future.” Hughes said helpfully. 

“Very funny.” Roy said dryly, wrinkling his brow. 

_Which is about as enjoyable as it sounds. Besides, I think it’s hardly a surprise that my parting from my alchemy studies is something I would take with a certain seriousness._

“Someone has a stick up their-“

_I hope your upcoming mid-term exams go well._

“- _Goodnight,_ Hughes _.”_

_Missing electrons,_

 

_\- R. Mustang._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Week's Solutions: 
> 
> That’s not fair to priest being converted (1,7)  
> Sol: I PROTEST. (Anag. To priest)
> 
> Nine large bananas, usually (2,7)  
> Solution: IN GENERAL (anag. for nine large)

_March 3_ _ rd_ _, 1904_

_Mr. Mustang,_

_As of today, Flamel boarding Academy is temporarily closed.  I doubt you will receive this before the 10_ _ th_ _, but--_

_I fear I have no time to write anything else._

 

_\- R.H._

_No charge after people finally lose pen (7)d: The Flamel Times._

 

* * *

 

  _March 10_ _th_ _, 1904_  

 

It felt like breathing in water when you expected air. 

 

Riza had done that once, long ago when she had gone swimming in the small lake in the woods of her family’s Estate. It had been brackish water, stinging and slippery as it went up her nose and mouth, and Riza had panicked. It didn’t matter that she knew how to swim. In that moment, she had choked and gasped, lungs screaming for oxygen as she drowned. When she had finally broken the surface of the lake and hauled herself onto its banks, she had coughed up water, spitting onto the ground as she shivered and her blood rushed in her ears. 

For days afterwards, Riza thought she could still smell the lake waters in her hair.  

Now, the same urgent fear had settled in her chest; just as suffocating and just as bitter as the water had been. And when she coughed, acid burned in the back of her throat in memory. The phone call had been sudden, but for all her recollections and all her readings she could never name a time when such a situation wasn’t sudden. The people on the other line had asked for Yvette, and Riza hadn’t the time to realize any dread until after the phone in the common rooms left her hands. 

And then it became like drowning. 

Yvette had dropped the phone in the common room, and the other girls had stared as Riza instinctively pulled her roommate into her embrace. For the last seven days, Riza had been a rock in a tornado, fielding calls for her roommate, accepting letters and chocolates from other girls. She’d received flowers from several people, which she had thanked them for before promptly draining the vases of their water and tossing the dead plants into the school gardens. Yvette didn’t need more dead things occupying their room. Riza supposed the haunting burnished tintypes of Christopher’s smiling face and trimly cut uniform hung on a ribbon over her desk was bad enough. 

That morning Riza had woken long before dawn, unable to fall back asleep. She had showered quickly, feeling oddly alone as she did so, her hair plastering to the back of her neck as she rinsed off. It hadn’t taken long for Riza to dress either, while Yvette remained asleep from utter exhaustion, Riza pulled on a quiet black dress that slipped over her body easily. Then she donned a black jacket with a high neck, and her uniform shoes. Mourning dress provided a simple sort of code that Riza appreciated; it took little thought to wear black, and less energy to choose something appropriate. 

Yvette had very few pieces of black clothing available in her closet, so Riza had laid out her best dress and black gloves at the foot of Yvette’s bed. She needed something to wear, and while it didn’t fit her perfectly, Yvette had given Riza a tiredly appreciative look when she stumbled out of Marian Hall fully dressed. 

Not being particularly drawn to any religion, Riza had always found the presence of churches to be odd, a vaguely uncomfortable and formal building that she tended to avoid whenever possible. But Christopher’s family had chosen a church to hold the funeral for their son in, and Yvette had been expected to attend as his fianceé. Riza found herself at Yvette’s side, despite her discomfort, and Yvette’s own unfamiliarity with the church. Riza suspected it was less a matter of religion, and more a matter of ceremony — they were not religious people, they were creatures of comfort. 

Unable to follow the expectations of the church’s, Riza simply held back, following Yvette’s own stumbling movements and motions. When she looked ready to trip, Riza’s hand went to her elbow, balancing her. The church’s inner hall was filled with students and the townspeople of Flamel, in addition to men and women Riza didn’t recognize, but assumed must have been from Christopher’s original hometown. A small band of men and women in uniforms with glassy stares hung back, and Riza wondered briefly if those had been the survivors of the bombing, or if they had simply been friends. Fellow cadets. 

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted Octavia, moving in time with the girl she had been pursuing - _Florence -_ Riza’s mind corrected for her. Octavia looked nearly as hollowed out as Yvette did. She had liked Christopher, had wanted Yvette to be happy in the end, and Riza inherently understood that this time, Octavia couldn’t reach out to Yvette in the way she wanted to. That alone was Riza’s duty. They caught each other’s glances, and passed weak grimaces between the two of them before Florence gently tugged Octavia to one side of the aisle of pews in the church. 

“Riz, can you sit with me?” Yvette asked weakly. “I know your father is going to come, but I have to sit beside Chris’s brother Thomas, and I, I—“ 

“My father called and said he would probably be too late to attend this service. He’s going to pick me up after you go home with your family.” Riza assured quietly, taking her hand. Strictly speaking, Riza didn’t know if this was entirely true. It could have been the train schedules, or it could have simply been that her father, even all these years later, disdained funerals of any sort. Riza suspected it had to do with her mother’s passing, but had never pressed the matter. If it was his dislike of the military, better he stay away from Yvette and Christopher’s family. If it was because of her mother…better he stay away for his own sake. 

“Thank you, Riza.”

“This will all work out, okay?” She murmured quietly in response, passing her roommate a handkerchief. Yvette took it in her shaking hand, and crumpled it between her fingers. Riza gave her a soft look, before firming her countenance. “I promise.” If people could believe those words from the authorities of the church they were in, perhaps Yvette could believe it if she was sure enough in her words.

Things would get easier. They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week's solution: No charge after people finally lose pen (7)d: The Flamel Times. = Enclose+d

_Amestrian National Military Academy — Central City._

_Saturday Morning 0700 hours,  March 10_ _ th_ _1904._

* * *

 

It had been a complete fluke that he’d received Riza’s letter that morning. Mail call was usually a delayed process, one that came after everyone’s mail had been sorted and delivered, business first and personal second. But the March 1st Incident had thrown a kink in the works of the Academy’s mail system. Deliveries had been going in and out with rapid fire - the most important military communiques having been rushed through as fast as could be handled, but everything else was being put on hold. The air around the mess hall had been tense and markedly frustrated as personal letters were slowly rolled out and given to the cadets. Everyone with connections in Eastern had news to share, and a letter from someone — everyone except Roy.

That was, until Hughes had slipped his envelope postmarked from Flamel onto the mess hall table for Roy’s benefit over breakfast. Then, it had taken seconds for him to rip viciously into the spine of the envelope, rending its contents onto the table beside his bowl of oatmeal and cup of weak coffee. 

“Whoa, calm down there, Mustang.” Hughes said in surprise. “It’s just a letter. It’s not going anywhere.” He added, face clearly expressing that he believed it was too early to be acting so quickly, despite the fact that during the week they got up much earlier. 

“Not now, Hughes.” Roy snapped, hands flipping the newspaper clipping over to examine the print closely. The clipping was not news on its own; the city of Egremont was close enough to the border that it had been prone to a riot here and there. There had been protests, and a refreshed injection of additional soldiers stationed in the city. Things seemed like they could be under control, and then one of the buildings had been blown up, killing a handful of soldiers, and injuring dozens more. The ones who survived, if they were lucky, could be fitted with automail. The rest…

His gaze fell over the one familiar name he could pick out in the article. There had been a reason for Riza to send it, after all. _Christopher_. Roy knew the name, but his mind took a moment longer to connect it to the girl he knew; then finally it made sense. Her roommate’s fiancé was dead. There was no worse thing that could possibly happen, and Roy felt his lungs constrict as if he’d had the wind knocked out of him. 

Her letters had been concise before, but this was different. The puzzle felt like a half-hearted afterthought, and it ended midway through her own words. Riza could be economical in her statements, the same way Roy could be, when he wasn’t talking about alchemy, but this was more than that. Roy glared down at the date she’d hastily begun to write out, and then frowned. _March 10_ _th_ _was today._ But what had she meant to say? 

Pulling the article beside her letter, he paused to read it through again, eyes falling on the sentence. ‘The funeral will be March 10th, here in Flamel at the Church of Balthan, at noon.” 

 

He needed to be there.

 

“Hughes, what times do the trains East leave?” Roy asked suddenly, as Hughes scooped orange pulp from its skin. 

He paused, and then swallowed. “Next one’s probably at 0800 hours. Most of the major hubs are on the hour, you know,” He trailed off as Roy stood up suddenly, pushing back from the table, and hastily grabbing his letter, its contents, and his tray. “—What are you _doing?_ ”

“I have to go.” Roy said, sweeping the letter and article into his pocket, along with the envelope. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Oy, Mustang, you can’t just take leave without-“ 

“- _Hughes!_ ” Roy snapped. “I need to go send a telegram. I’ll be back later.” He’d stood up, hastily taking the tray with him. It took less than a moment for Hughes to join him, scrambling after Roy’s footsteps.

“What the hell?” He said, at Roy’s heels, as they dumped their trays off, and stormed out of the mess hall. “What do you need to send a telegram for?”

“I need to leave Central, I’ll be back later. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.” Roy said quickly, veering off towards the dorms. He needed to pack, needed to have something on hand for the train ride. When he found his way to his bed, Roy ripped open his drawers and pulled out his knapsack, stuffing the thing with a change of clothes and his wallet while Hughes hovered at his side.

“Are you going to at least give me a reason _why_ you’re leaving? You know, something I can tell the commanders if you suddenly don’t show up for whatever reason?” Hughes asked impatiently, settling down on his bed. Without looking, Roy knew his friend’s look was a confused one, but he didn’t feel like he had the time or ability to explain himself. Maybe later. Maybe after he got to Flamel, Roy could begin to explain the reasons why he had to go. This wasn’t someone he knew personally, the funeral itself was none of his business, but Riza—

—Riza wouldn’t ask for him even if she needed him to be there. And yet, he could feel it written into her letter, pulling at him the same way she might have if she was right there. 

“Just make something up. Family emergency, or something. Look, it’s the weekend. If they care, tell them I went out. I’ll be back before Monday.” _Cover for me,_ Roy’s eyes said.

Maes blinked, and something imperceptible crossed his features before he nodded. “Fine. You owe me.” 

Relief flooded Roy, and he slung his sack over his shoulder, nodding. “I do.” With that, he left the barracks, Hughes muttering something behind him as the door shut.

The trip to the transportation center was a relatively short one, and Roy managed to buy a relatively inexpensive one way ticket that would transfer him all the way to the city of Flamel on the hour. It left a little time, but not much for him to send a brief telegraph, which he had paid a fair bit of the price of his ticket to send. It was then that he felt a rush of gratitude for the pocket change his mother’s business had given him. If the expense was worth it, the money had always been there to spare. And if the person in charge of the telegrams at Central Station thought his message was unusual, he said nothing.

 

RIZA HAWKEYE

COMING TO FLAMEL TODAY (STOP) SEE YOU SOON (STOP)

R MUSTANG


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Day of March 10th, 1904

 

The church’s pealing bells at the end of the service shook Riza from her thoughts. She wasn’t able to follow the majority of the ceremony, but she supposed there couldn’t have been many variations on ways to assure everyone present that death was not meaningless. Something else existed, something maybe better and more comforting would happen to Christopher’s soul. If the words were repeated often enough, Riza assumed they would provide assurance to his family and to Yvette. 

Wistfully, she had wished she had faith in the the improvable. But staring ahead into the eyes of stone statues as she had held Yvette’s hand had provided no solace. Faith, of course, was an acceptance in ideas that science could not prove. Faith was about the immeasurable and invisible, things that Riza couldn’t quantify or contain. It felt empty, compared to the things she could touch, and yet the known did not relieve the unshakeable feeling of loss. 

But the slight chance that with time, it would give _Yvette_ closure kept Riza hopeful that the long funeral was worth it. As much as she hated the feeling that the building itself was bearing down on her, she knew that it was still less than the weight Yvette now bore on her shoulders. When the ceremony ended, they shook themselves from their seats, moving away from the mahogany pews and filing out in single lines into the aisles. Yvette followed her, still holding her hand, her palm like ice against Riza’s. Riza instinctively squeezed, pulling Yvette closer to her as soon as they made it back into the main aisle that ran up the church hall. She leaned into Riza, almost imperceptibly, and Riza instinctively pulled her closer. She needed someone to lean on. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Riza located Octavia and Florence, huddled together in their mourning clothes. Riza wondered if they had dressed to match each other; Octavia wore a high waisted black skirt that swept down to the floor, with a pressed and simple collared blouse. Florence’s own attire mirrored Octavia’s almost exactly, save for a large white and black cameo pinned elegantly at her throat. Florence looked mildly concerned, but Octavia had taken it harder than Riza suspected she would likely admit to. In the deepest part of her heart, Octavia had loved Yvette enough to wish her the utmost happiness with  man who loved her. His death broke her heart in its own way, and the sharp black made Octavia’s pale coloring look sallow and withdrawn. As they neared, Riza guided Yvette towards their friends in near silence. 

Florence murmured words of condolences, but stepped aside to allow Octavia take Yvette’s hands and promise her that things would get better. _Things would change. She was strong and would handle this. It wasn’t the end of her world._ This went on for a few minutes, before Octavia let go, and Yvette’s hands slipped back to Riza’s, quietly and without pretense. Riza bade her goodbyes to the other two girls, and escorted her roommate back to the end of the building, pulling her aside for a moment of peace and quiet on the side of the door. 

They spent a few moments watching people leave before Riza turned her back against the open hall, and looked back to her friend. She blocked prying eyes from view of Yvette as she quietly took stock of the other girl. “Yvette, are—“ Riza fumbled for the right words, knowing intuitively that asking if she was _okay_ was foolish. 

She seemed to know this, and nodded her head a little, tilting her head as she rolled her shoulder. “Riza, do…do you think they hate us as much as I hate them?” She asked quietly, voice trembling like a weak reed instrument. 

“-Them?” Riza asked, feeling confused as Yvette’s hands went to wipe away her fresh wave of tears. Yvette nodded more firmly, breathing in sharply before she exhaled, long and exhausted. 

“The Ishvalans. These riots…all these attacks…they started because an Amestrian soldier killed one of their children, didn’t they?” Yvette’s lips trembled, eyes crinkling before she inhaled again, and stiffened, rolling back her shoulders. She drew her chin up, as if defying further tears. “That’s what happened. Someone killed their children, and now they hate us. And I-I hate them too.” She said thinly, looking away from Riza’s gaze. Unsure of what to say, Riza stood with her in silence, waiting for something more from Yvette, waiting for any sort of cue to say the exact right thing to comfort her, even if the idea was appalling. She waited.

Then Yvette spoke. “I guess I understand now. That’s what they want. For us to understand.” She laughed bitterly, tucking away the handkerchief in her pocket. “How stupid. I hate fighting. But we all care when someone hurts the people we love, don’t we?” 

“I’m sorry, Yvette,” Riza began, brows furrowing in concern. 

“—Don’t be. I don’t know if I can blame them. The men who did this are dead anyways.” Yvette sighed, adjusting Riza’s clothes over her frame. “There’s no real chance for retribution, or, or _justice._ If that exists. But thank you for staying with me.” Tilting her head again, her shoulders dropped again, as if she had remembered how much effort it took to appear strong in this moment. 

“We would do anything for the people we care about, Yvette. To protect them.” Riza explained, smiling for her friend’s sake. Yvette nodded in distant agreement, and then looked over Riza’s shoulder. 

Thinking on something she fell silent for a moment before adding, “They’ll be hosting a few more funerals here. But I’m going home with my family, and Christopher’s brother said he would take me back to my house.” 

Riza wondered if this meant he would be escorting her to the trains, or arranging to drive her back to her home and family, but decided against questioning it. Instead, she told her, “Stay safe. You can return the dress to me later. I have to go to my room and get my things before I meet up with my father.” The city was too somber, too talkative about the tragedy, too overwhelming. Riza would have much preferred to take refuge back in the countryside of Ashford with her father. She could take the time to retreat to her rooms, to exist in peaceful silences with her father, to finish copy-editing papers she was being paid to look over. It would feel like healing the wound to leave the city for a little bit. 

“I’ll see you then, when they start classes again.” Yvette said, hugging Riza.

“Of course.” She replied, pulling away to part ways with her roommate as Christopher’s brother Thomas came to take Yvette with him. Giving one last glance her roommate’s way way, Riza turned to leave the dreadfully gloomy building behind,  and pushed open its heavy doors, making her way back through the streets of Flamel to the Academy. 

Her journey to Marian Hall was quick; easy and thoughtless once she had hit the main streets of the city, and she skipped a step as she approached the front door of the building. The front of the entry hall appeared empty, and Riza’s eyes caught on the cubbies that kept the girls’ mail, a single envelope occupying hers. She turned to pull it from its’ slot, slipping the sheet between her fingers when a thud fell behind her. 

Whirling around with the note in hand, Riza’s eyes widened at the sudden noise.

 

She found herself face to face with Roy Mustang.

 

 His eyes were somewhere between wild and worried, black as obsidian but soft like charcoal. Her breath caught in her throat, and she blinked, the moment of stunned silence drawing out in her mind longer than it lasted in reality. In a split second, her mind registered several facts: that the thud had come from Roy’s backpack that he had dropped to the floor, that he had presumably packed himself in preparation to come here, and that he had to have arrived just before her. Roy moved suddenly, and Riza stumbled as his arms wrapped around her in a tight, wordless embrace. The telegram dropped to the floor.

He was really _there_.

 Riza breathed in, dizzy with the faint smell of Roy’s aftershave on his uniform, the warm scent of his skin that had left her months ago but didn’t ever feel truly gone when she was alone. His chest radiated with warmth, and Riza instinctively pulled him closer, leaning to feel his heart beat against his ribcage, warm, resounding, and _alive_. It was selfish, horrible of her to think, but alive was the only thing that felt like it could ward off her fears. The only thing she could reassure herself with in a way that Yvette could not. Tension slipped from his body, but his hold remained steadfast, and he leaned to speak softly into her ear. “You worried me.” 

 _What a joke_ , Riza thought numbly. That she had worried him over one unfinished but still sent letter. She tried to remember what it was she had written, if she had told him to come, but remembered she had decided against explicitly inviting him. (What would she have done if he had been unable, or refused? She would have felt like an idiot.) Instead of voicing it for him, she simply nodded, dropping her head to his shoulder, standing in silence. _Worried_. He was worried. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be okay, and I thought - I thought,” Roy fumbled, desperately looking for the right words. Riza supposed there weren’t any; after all, what more could possibly be said? The beat of his heart was already erratic, already panicked, and they were used to speaking without saying everything. Removing herself from Roy’s shoulder, Riza pulled away, placing a hand on his cheek, silencing Roy with her touch. It didn’t take much, he was already at a loss for words, but Roy’s gaze held steady, bled out his fear and startling desperation, pulling her in faster than drowning felt like. This time, she was throwing herself into the river. 

Kissing Roy Mustang was not always a good idea, but in that moment it felt like a necessary one. Riza covered his lips with her own, fingers wrapping in the coat of his uniform, pressing into his jaw, standing on the tips of her toes. Roy kissed her fiercely, burning away everything but sudden relief from her heart. True, sadness lingered on her clothes, but Roy’s hands were at her waist again, and he made a slight noise of relief, body leaning into hers. Riza pressed further, opening her mouth, sweeping her thumb down the line of his neck as she took her time filling her senses back with Roy. 

It was real, and she knew because his tongue tasted the same on her lips, because he was firm and wanting and his pulse ran its tempo underneath her fingertips. Because when she pulled away slightly, Roy shuddered and followed her, kissing her again, and again; her lips, her cheek, then the tip of her nose where he stopped, resting his forehead against hers. When Roy breathed, Riza felt the air between them tremble with static, and she half wondered if their jokes about covalent bonding had made something more that couldn’t otherwise be described. But that was silly, a little girl’s folly way of rationalizing the intense urges she had now that she was back in the same room as him, despite the gnawing, gaping pit of dread and fear in her stomach. She wanted him, and he was here, but sense wormed its way between them. It creeped into her consciousness and reminded her why she was worried, and why she was mourning; even as his hot breaths fluttered over her lips, and Roy kissed her softly and sweetly once more. 

“I’m _sorry._ ” Riza choked out when he stopped. It was wrong of her to do this, wrong to want him and wrong to start something she couldn’t have and couldn’t finish. Riza pulled away, trying to disentangle herself slowly and gracefully from where she had just desperately clung to him. _She wasn’t in the right state of mind. This was pain. She was wrong to take advantage of his being there_. He had come for her. And she was so eager and willing to let herself feel this way again that she was almost disappointed with herself.

“—Don’t be. I came on the first train.” Roy insisted, brushing back a lock of her hair as if he hadn’t noticed her attempts to peel away. Maybe he hadn’t, even as she rocked back on her heels, because his eyes were concentrated on her face, brows still knotted with concern. “I knew I would be too late for the funeral, and I’d get lost in the city if I’d tried to find you, but if I came here, I thought I’d wait for you.” This time he stepped forwards again, and unsure if it was to kiss her or to hold her, Riza put her hands against his chest, and lightly pushed back against him, shaking her head.

“Roy, no - I mean, I’m _sorry_. We…I…we can’t just _do_ this.” She repeated slowly, swallowing as she looked away from him hesitantly. Dread resumed its vacuum in her stomach, and suddenly she felt small, much smaller than she was. 

“Do what?” He asked, and Riza heart sunk as genuine bewilderment crossed his features. Roy’s hair no longer slipped over his eyes, and she desperately wished it did. Something to lessen his gaze, the obvious anxiety there. 

“This. Right now. I’m sorry, I was really upset, and it’s not fair for me to just— we can’t be _us._ I thought I knew that.” She thought _he_ knew that, but then he had only shown up, only kissed back. 

“I came because I was worried about you.” Roy insisted, hands moving to wrap around hers as she pressed them against his chest. “I thought you…you made it sound like you didn’t think I could come, but, I thought you would want me to-” He faltered, as if doubting himself now that he’d already arrived, and already held her. 

Riza’s gut twisted. 

“Roy I _can’t_.”  Didn’t he realize why she had taken her chance at being with him? She had let him know they couldn’t carry on, but she hadn’t been clear about the reasons that scared her the most. Had even hoped he’d simply understood because she hadn’t clarified for him, other than what seemed obvious - that she didn’t want to be tethered to a long distance relationship. Didn’t want to be lonely and empty and holding onto a mere _claim_ to someone else.

Even worse, “What if I lost you like this? What if I have to lay awake at night and wonder if it was you?” She couldn’t do that, not when Yvette had suffered through it. It was so incredibly strong, but so maddeningly helpless. “I would do anything for the people I care about, but I can’t protect you from this. I couldn’t stop it. If you die, that’s it. And I can’t just be helpless to that on the sidelines. We couldn’t be _together_ like that.” 

“Riza, I’m not going to die in school,” Roy said slowly, taking a step back.

“You don’t know that. I don’t know that. We can’t just pretend like you’re not in another city, or that people aren’t out there fighting, and dying. Roy I hate to call it a _war_ ,” 

“—So _don’t_ ,”

“—But don’t you think that’s what it’s going to become?” She pressed, fingers absently smoothing the wrinkled lines of his uniform. She couldn’t help it, there were marks from where she’d grasped the pressed fabric in her hands and held on. 

“If I don’t do everything I can for the people _I_ care about, then what sort of soldier am I?” Roy responded, the injury of the weight of her refusal writ clear on his face. “What sort of _alchemist_ would I be if I didn’t serve the people? I thought you wanted me here, Riza. That’s why I came. If I’d thought,” Riza bit her lip as he spoke, cutting himself off mid-sentence. If he’d thought she didn’t want him there, he would have spared himself the trouble. The time. Maybe the humiliation. 

“-Of course I want you here.” Riza said, fixing his collar now out of nervousness more than anything else.

“Then why…” Roy started, before he blinked, evidently more hurt than before. “You don’t want to want me here?” Dawning realization had him pulling back in confusion. “I wasn’t-“

“Roy, _no_ ,” It wasn’t like that, this was her fault, for initiating. For continuing. For trying to hold on when she’d already wiped the possibility from her mind. “My father is going to be here to take me home for the break. You have to be at the Academy…” They certainly didn’t have the time; not to discuss, not to consume, not to simply _be._ There were dozens of reasons why their reunion, why his arrival was not the good news she wanted it to be. 

“But I missed you.” Riza added softly, feeling ashamed. At this, Roy looked up, a semblance of hope gleaming in his eyes. She wanted desperately to card her fingers through his hair and try to make him smile, but they were both mourning, it seemed. She’d just come from a funeral, after all, and despite the long sermons telling her about the new beginnings that would stem from tragedy, Riza saw the endings more clearly. 

“I missed _us_.” He said pointedly, and Riza took in the changes she had overlooked. He wasn’t taller; in fact she’d grown, but he felt broader, stronger - like he had begun to fill in the edges of a man’s stature. Roy’s face was clean shaven, and his eyes were more alert than ever before, but underneath this newly instilled military training he still felt like Roy. Felt like familiarity. She reached her hand out, sliding it into his own for a moment as Roy watched impassively, as if unsure of her next move. 

“I thought about that.” She admitted, sliding back into the space before him, “I don’t want you to forget this,” Riza said, and Roy completed her thought, curling back possessively around her as he met her for another kiss. It hurt; tender, but laced in pain. Roy understood, without questioning it, and he was slow, thorough in his exploration of her mouth and gentler than he had been before. They were fragile and breaking, after all. She wondered if it mattered if they burned out quickly or slowly, if they were ready to linger in burning ashes, waiting for another moment. A right moment. But gone with all light today.

Even after months of having kissed Roy Mustang, Riza couldn’t bring herself to believe she had memorized every line and hollow of his mouth, every soft skim of his lips and slight flicker of his tongue against the roof of her mouth in a way that made her shiver every time. In theory, Riza could kiss him over and over and still be unconvinced she truly could recall what he felt like. How Roy’s arms wrapped around her. The soft, hesitant moment when he would pull away on baited breath, and brace himself for her next move. 

He was a soldier in training now, Riza reminded herself. He would have to take much worse. 

“It would take a lot to forget that.” Roy said, voice low enough to hum and vibrate the air between them. 

“You have to try. We both do. At least until this is over.” Her voice worn thin, and she wished it was easier to speak.

“Why?” Roy asked defiantly. 

“To feel like I couldn’t do anything to stop… _that_ — I need to stop writing you.”

“You need that?” He withdrew a little more, and the pit in Riza’s stomach grew a little further. 

“Yes.” Riza swallowed thickly. “Just, _closure_ , Roy. A friend at school and not, not you preparing to be a soldier.” 

“This wasn’t my funeral, Riza.”

“I know.” She sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “But my father,”

“He was never going to approve of us.” Roy pointed out. 

“That was about _propriety_. This is about morality, Roy. Being in the military…” She bit her bottom lip sadly. “You have an obligation, now. I have my own. We don’t have the time.” It was one thing to sneak around under her father’s nose, in his own home; but another entirely to go explicitly against his ideals and wishes when he made it perfectly clear he thought ties with the military were unacceptable. 

“But that’s not really why.” Roy said, suddenly calm. “If I was just your friend, I wouldn’t have come?” He asked. 

Riza winced, but didn’t answer. The silence dragged out, and she tightened her hands into fists, nails digging into her skin as she remained quiet. What was she supposed to say? Nothing could make it better, and nothing could state the obvious more than the dip of her head in apology. She was sorry. 

She was avoiding the devastated look in his eyes; the long minute when his poker face fell, and Roy looked agonized for a moment before he recovered, clearing his throat. His eyes darted to look at her, to try and meet her own gaze once more before he gave up, and took a full step back. He understood why they didn’t speak when words were too much. Riza hoped it would hurt less that way. 

And like that, Roy’s face smoothed over into the same charming mask he wore for everyone. Practiced and calm, and more efficient than any other camouflage. His smile would no longer meet his eyes, but the confidence he radiated spoke of practice and ease with pretending. Roy was not partial to lying, but he was a chameleon of personas and emotions, and she watched as he became a young - distant - gentleman once again. It was nothing personal, of course, but Riza envied his ability to pretend his emotions were others. She simply had to make do with acting as if she had none at all, face impassive. They were at an impasse. 

Reaching to grab his backpack off the floor, he slung it back over his shoulders and gave her another look, unreadable this time. “Would you like help with your luggage, Miss Hawkeye?”

Riza sucked in a breath, and nodded. “That would be appreciated, thank you Mister Mustang.” 

“Of course.” He said, before conducting himself in newfound silence, giving her a wide berth to lead him to her room, where her trunk was laid out, ready to be hefted in his hands and carried back down the steps to the front entrance of the Hall. 

From the bottom of the steps, Riza saw her father standing outside a cab parked on the paved way of the Academy’s roads. At this, Roy hesitated briefly, catching Berthold’s silent and analytical stare, and Riza ducked her head in discomfort. Roy set her luggage case down gently for her, exchanging the briefest of glances with her - as if he wanted to say something again, but thought better of it - and stepped away. Her father remained silent, watching them both quietly, and Riza suddenly remembered the feel of twisting serpents forming on her back. She had taken them on to protect; and incomplete though they were, she couldn’t have even begun to explain if he had seen. If she had shown him their outlines. If things were different.

Her throat dry, she swallowed, picking up her trunk. “Goodbye, Mister Mustang.” Riza said quietly, before he nodded in return, his eyes still on her father.  Without looking back to him, she walked her trunk to her father, and piled into the cab.

“Goodbye, Miss Hawkeye.” Roy replied, words smooth and concise, as she snapped the car door shut.

 

 It would be the last of Roy’s voice Riza would hear for some time. 


	9. Roy's final letter - March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> March 10th, 1904

He’d lost track of time sometime after the sun had gone down, and the train had pulled into Grand Central City Station. Roy’s arrival back to the Academy barracks was something he did with as little fanfare as possible, slipping into the building like a ghost. Above everything else, he felt tired. 

There had been an hour when he had done nothing but play and replay the scene in his mind, the words she had said, and the things Riza Hawkeye didn’t tell him, but after this first hour on the train, a stewardess offered him a nightcap, and he gratefully took a glass of scotch. It didn’t ease his mind overmuch; Master Hawkeye’s stare still bore into his chest - but he felt his energy slipping, and fell into a dreamless nap. Roy had woken up two stops before his final destination more exhausted than before, chest heavy and head throbbing in dehydration. 

There were bad ideas, the Madame had said, and then there were bad ideas with booze. Roy had hoped making his trip the latter would ease the wear on him. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Maes was still awake and waiting to see him, but it did. 

“So should I ask…?”  Hughes started, eyes lighting up roguishly, as he swung an arm over Roy’s shoulders, and clapped his back. “-I mean a man in that much of a hurry, what’d you do, propose to someone?” he said with a laugh, as Roy winced from the blow. The scotch was long enough gone that Roy guessed he didn’t smell of it, but the effects still made him slower than he might have normally been. He caught his balance, stopping just short of stumbling, and brushed Maes off, giving him a stern look. 

“Not now, Hughes.” Roy said tiredly, making his way to his bed and effects. He dumped the knapsack beside his bed, and pulled out his alchemy notebook and pen, before he collapsed against his mattress. 

“Sheesh.” Maes replied, rubbing the back of his neck. Giving Roy a more serious look, he gauged the situation, and Roy could only guess what wild assumptions Maes would be coming up with. It didn’t matter what they were; undoubtably Maes would still fall sort of the mark. But still, if it had been a family fatality, Roy would have said something. Would have requested a real leave, and been granted it. Which left something _else_. Something that would remain private. “What’s eating you?” 

Roy shrugged, flipping his book to a blank page. “Long day.”

“And here I was hoping it was a woman,” Hughes pressed, black brow raising behind his rectangular glasses. Roy sighed, rolling his eyes as he attempted to ignore his older, nosy friend. 

A full five minutes passed before Maes returned to settling in for the evening quietly, and Roy spoke up once more.

“Hey Hughes.” 

Pausing, Maes looked up from buttoning his pajama top. “Yeah?”

“You really think all that love of a woman stuff is worth it?” It was casual, and nearly dismissive in its tone, but Maes honed in as if the mere question was meaningful. Maes Hughes saw meaning and ulterior motive in everything.

“Of course I do. You have to have something to look forwards to. Someone who loves you enough to fix waffles for breakfast and you can make laugh before bed.” He settled back onto his bed, hands behind his head as he rested against his pillows. “Two-point-five kids and a nice apartment isn’t so bad. Why the hell else would you want to protect and serve if not for that?” 

Roy smiled, closing his eyes. “Moral obligation. Patriotism. Duty as a citizen. I could go on.”

“Those are excuses. Not reasons. People are more selfish than that.” 

“Maybe,” Roy hedged. He set his pen down to his paper, and jotted down the initials _R. H. —_ “But I would hardly call all those other reasons excuses.”

From across the way, Maes grunted. “I guess. Anyways, Goodnight. I covered for you for enough, and I’m _exhausted_.”

“Yeah, Night.” Roy replied absently as Hughes flicked off his small light and Roy returned to scrawling on his page.

_Atomically speaking, we are never apart._

_Scientifically, movements are measured in time and space; distance itself is a concept that is only fact when felt. Miles here, minutes there, but atoms are substructures of the whole and lay against each other without end, and you cannot remove this connection._

_I did not mention this when I left, because people are unscientific creatures, and measure distance in emotions and thoughts, not atoms and space._

_Science is more comforting when it comes to distances, however._

_The difference between holding you, and holding your letters is marginal at best; you have touched the pages that I will touch and doing so, you have taken my hands. I will miss this kiss of words because it made the space between us that much smaller. We both walk the same earth and touch the same ground. Between us both, the space is negligible; we lay apart atom to atom, and your touch is present even when you are not. I wish you saw this act of science, because although it is endless, it is infinitesimal. We are as much together as we are apart, and this is what I take comfort in._

_I regret not telling you that bonds are not meant for breaking. The strength of a bond is such that it can be measured by the overlap of the atomic orbitals involved - for each revolution, how much is shared? When one atom is a part of another, it cannot simply break away. Bond strength is lessened by distance, the greater the covalent radius; but space alone does not break it. Alchemically, there is very little that does not overlap; when two objects are comprised of the same compounds, they become a part of each other. When I think you are a part of me, perhaps I mean to think my mass is not whole without adding yours.We occupied the same space._

_I am sorry this ever caused you any pain or hardship. I was presumptive, as my Aunt would say. I am equally apologetic that this letter will never span the physical distances between you and I; the essence therein may only exist in places that have touched what you might, connecting us again, but more briefly._

_As your friend, I know enough to deny you the chance to read the thoughts of your once-lover at your request. I would deny you nothing you asked of me; I promise you that. It is an imperfect sentimentality to deny science in favor of emotion, but you wish to be separate, and our ends and beginnings are already not so far apart. I can’t give you these words. I suppose I understand why. It’s harder now to separate what was then and after without thinking of an ‘us’ at all._

_Still, I will miss you. Alchemy has its limits, after all._

 

_\- R.M._

 

When he was done, he scratched a small array onto another page, and tore the letter out, laying it atop his array. With a push of his fingers and a soft crackle of blue light, the ink bled across the page, and the paper folded into a graceful outline of a vigilant hawk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thanks for following through to read to the end, and keep an eye out for the next chapter in the Soldier's Element series, The Conflagration Codex.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel of The Concupiscence Conjectures! The entirety of this sequel is already completely written, and will be updated once weekly. Unlike the Conjectures, The Logogriph letters has a slightly different flare to it -- besides having both Roy and Riza's POVs, each chapter will contain several word puzzles within the letters. These puzzles will generally be cryptics, and the answers to the previous chapter's puzzles will be posted at the beginning of the following chapter. They are written in such a way that hopefully you will lose nothing if you don't solve them, but if you do, feel free to guess the answers! 
> 
> Here's an example of a Beheadment puzzle: 
> 
>  
> 
> **Behead something used to climb and get a viper. (6, 5)**
> 
>  
> 
> The sentence is the puzzle. The numbers tell you the number of letters in the word answers. 
> 
> The solution is: Ladder, Adder. 
> 
> One of Roy's codes is marked "del." for a deletion puzzle, meaning that a letter must be removed from one of the solutions to reach the other, but does not necessarily have to be the first letter of the word like a beheadment. If this seems a little confusing, well, that's why it's a puzzle! If you feel up to it, _read his letter closely,_ try your hands at cracking the puzzles, and if you need help with flats, I recommend the National Puzzler's League. As Sherlock Holmes would say, _The game is afoot!_


End file.
